Evermore
by Taransay
Summary: Told through the eyes of Rahab – his evolution, his conquest of the Drowned Abbey, the fall of humanity, the execution of the oldest of the Brethren, and his loss.
1. Epilogue

Formally called 'Water's Solace'. Rewritten, altered chapters, added new ones etc. Told through the eyes of Rahab – his evolution, his conquest of the Drowned Abbey, the fall of humanity, the execution of the oldest of the Brethren, and of course, his loss.

More chapters coming soon ;)

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_**Rahab, Kain, Raziel, Turel, Dumah, Zephon & Melchiah etc. © Eidos Interactive & Crystal Dynamics**_

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**Evermore  
**_By Taransay_

_Epilogue_

Water.

Water. It can nourish, and it can destroy. It can give life to mortals, and yet it can take it from vampires. See the equilibrium that water can be? Do not let it fool you, for it is most beautiful. Upon the currents of such, gentle light may play, so alluring... and yet... it can bind you fast, it can drag you in... And it can introduce you to _us._

Water – yes, the pure beauty, the whole essence of purity. In honesty it has captivated me since the beginning. Nevertheless, it also trapped me in the cruellest of ways. It betrayed me. I became a prisoner of the element I once admired. Worse, I became a prisoner of my own body.

I am no longer the creature I was. Nor am I the figure that once stood tall and proud with my brothers in utmost dignity, knowing that I would serve Lord Kain no matter what.

But that figure I was once... I am no more. Instead my own body has gone against me, warping itself to further its own means.

It was I who beheld the greatest feat known to vampiric kind. Afterwards, it was my children and I who suffered.

I remember when it was the change occurred. It stains my mind of how it was, and how it was going to be. I was at my weakest and my most vulnerable point, the worst I have ever been. And I was in too much pain to be embarrassed of my defencelessness; too busy trying to figure out what was happening to me and why it was all so suddenly I was finding it hard to breath. It seemed that slowly, yet surely, I was being suffocated – unable to breath the air around me. I was drowning.

Throughout the darkness I could hear the winds blowing up and down the stone corridors, howling like some misplaced spectre. Howling like some lone wolf separated from its pack, separated from those it needed to be with, much like myself.

The floor underneath me remained to be cold, and I had shuddered because of it, the contrast of that stone floor compared to that of my skin – hot and moist due to a fever I had acquired days earlier. Strange indeed for creatures such as us, suffering from such illnesses. Yet this was not an illness. This was change...

Above me Turel stood, a statue composed patiently as he looked down upon his younger sibling. His shadow loomed over me, but it remained to be the gentlest shade. I wondered what he thought, whether there was any annoyance within him in seeing me act so weak and pitiful. For here was I, looking up at him in a pleading manner, like some weak child, lying limply and sprawled upon the floor. Muscles weak, and skin hot, unable to move much due to feebleness, and words broken with frailty.

Behind me was the waters edge. The sound of the water trickling and flowing filled my ears with the most beautiful chorus. I wanted to be apart of it. Truly I did. But to vampires water is like acid, and I feared its touch, its embrace, and its kiss upon my skin.

The sound of the water highlighted my own thirst, and the unfathomable bloodlust that I felt, deeply. I had not fed for some days due to the change that was plaguing me. And I dreamt what that element, water, might feel like against my skin, imagining its cool and silky touch running close to me as I dived through the many depths of a darkened blue where there were no boundaries and the depths were boundless.

From behind where I lay came the sound of the water breaking. It was the calmest of sounds as the translucent surface broke. I could sense the others, my own, stepping out of the water. Long before me they had taken to their element – children of water, and unafraid. Meanwhile, I lay on the cold stone floor, frightened to embrace what they had, and dying because of it.

"..._Release me, brother..."_ My voice was raucous and weak, my body fragile having been neglected these past few nights. I was desperate, smothered in pain, and begging for a release that would sooth my own woe.

For many nights I had been here. When weakness had become too consuming I had come to the waters edge in hope of solace. All I found was torment. And then I had collapsed, exhaustion and fright fighting for a part of my soul. Would I dare take another step near such an element?

"Nay Rahab." Turel knelt next to me, lifting up the frail husk that my soul was encased within. This is what my body had become, a mere husk.

"Hush now, and worry not."

I became aware that Turel was walking towards the waters edge, and too suddenly I was tempted into foreboding. If I had but the strength I would have cried out, 'Turel, what are you doing!' But my vocals were frozen tight, and I was at the mercy of my elder sibling.

But oh, had I not just asked to be released? Perhaps this was what he intended, to allow me to die this way, surrounded in the element that all my kind feared and yet I so loved.

I wondered about Raziel, and what it was he had felt.

'_Let it come swift then...'_ I thought.

Up the steps four of my children came, whilst four remained in the water. _'How marvellous they are,'_ I thought as I looked upon their grace. I was proud of them. Proud, and slightly jealous that they had adapted whilst I remained like this. And what about me? Was I to revel within her embrace like they did?

Silence. How did they feel to see their lord like this?

"Embrace what is yours to embrace." Gently Turel placed me into two of my children's arms, one that supported my upper torso and head, whilst the other took a hold of my legs.

"Become strong, fear not waters touch," I heard Turel say.

My children backed away from the Turelim Lord, and with a backwards pace they descended down the stone steps, taking me with them. My gaze never left Turel.

It was the last time that I ever stood on the ground...

But this is not how it should start. Like all stories there should, in theory, be a beginning. So allow us to start there...


	2. The Sweetest Blood

**One**  
_The Sweetest Blood_

I am going to take you back to the beginning. Not the very beginning, nay, that is for another time, and if _time_ permits, another story. Instead I am going to take you briefly back to one point of the establishment of Lord Kain's empire. Near to the end when it was the last of the human towns and cities were falling, and Lord Kain's empire was forever rising. When it was the clans began to establish their own territories. When it was the humans tried to resist us, and when it was we tried to silence such a resistance. It matters not which point, it is purely to set the scene, to create the atmosphere of this story and to give you some background to the events that will transpire.

This is the beginning of change – my change, their change, his change, _our _change – in which I would become gifted, and yet so cursed. In which Raziel would be lifted to a height that none of us could reach, and yet fall and become one of the damned. This is our elegy, Lord Kain's finest, and yet now, we are once again the lost.

)-(

"And that, my brothers..." Zephon allowed the mortal's head to droop to one side as if to prove a point. "...Is why a female's blood is all that more sweeter." He smiled in a cruel manner and discarded the corpse to the floor, allowing the body to drop from his claws in a careless manner. Melchiah, the youngest of us, watched him in a disapproving manner, as it was Zephon wiped the blood from his lips. I myself regarded the situation with a blank expression.

The body lay on the floor, a lifeless husk. Peculiar how silently it now lay, whilst moments before the female had put up quite the fight. And Zephon had stood, his claws clamped tight around her, soothing her with his very words, and seducing her with darkness. His one set of claws he had run softly and gently, almost lovingly, through her hair, embracing her tightly as if to sooth her of all terror and fear. And he wiped away the tears that had fallen down her face with the back of one of his claws, whilst whispering 'hush' into one of her ears every now and then.

Yet the predator in him was working all the time. Slowly he had tilted her head backwards, her confidence gained and then... And then there was silence, her cries lulled to the sweet and gentle quietness of peace. Afterwards Zephon had laughed. Zephon loved mortals in many ways. More so he loved to kill them.

"Ah, such a sweet lament, how it befalls me," mocked the Zephonim Lord. He smirked. "For Lord Kain," he stated, leaving the others and myself alone.

"_Nay, for yourself,"_ I muttered, wiping the remains of blood from my sword. I wondered, since when had Zephon done anything for anyone, other than himself?

It was with morbid fascination, and curiosity, that I approached the body, and prodded it with a foot. There was no response, and of course, I had not expected there to be one.

Swiftly I descended and knelt next to her, tilting her head slightly, and brushing away the strands of hair so as to expose her neck. Delicate pale skin infiltrated by Zephon's canines. Two puncture wounds now remained to be the only evidence left of the enjoyment Zephon had had in taking her life, drinking her blood, reading her thoughts – including those deep and hidden. He had enjoyed the process of soothing her, and yet secretly mocking her, feeling the dominance he upheld, knowing that only he held sway over her life. A simple gesture with his claws, and she would die. A simple kiss, and she could live forever.

I have to be swift to admit that the fulfilment of power did excite me. And, in a way, I envied the feed that Zephon had just had.

I barely noticed that the other had left. Dumah had departed in search of Raziel, and now only Turel, Melchiah, and I remained. My eyes still remained on the body, as I stood up. That one scene still remained fresh within my mind. How it was we had hunted out those we took a liking to in tormenting, goading each other onwards as it is brothers often do, and smiling at each one we had caught. The hunt had been delectable.

The night had been fresh, our own clans readied in battle – to take what land we lay claim to. We seized hold of any towns or dwellings that got in our way, the lands of Lord Kain's empire forever spreading, until it was that a majority of settlements were consumed by our forever swelling kingdoms, with no mercy for any that got in the way.

And with the entire ruckus of battle going on around me, I stood there contemplating Zephon's actions, debating them, debating him, and concluding bloodlust. In all honesty I was being foolish, for it is never wise to question ones vampiric nature, especially around your creator or brethren.

"And why, do you think he did that?" It was merely a question I asked myself, and no one else. But it was a question created in thought yet spoken aloud, and Turel felt the need to respond.

"I am certain our little wretch of a brother enjoys the attention it brings him." Turel narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. "Why Rahab, does it bother you so?"

Bother me? Imagine that, the Rahabim Lord taking pity on humanity. Imagine, a vampire sympathising with a mortal! _What such ludicrous thoughts..._ I did not reply, but merely placed a hand to my face and pulled at my lower lip, deep in thought.

We could hear the sounds from outside. The background was very much alive. One could hear the sound of flames, as our legions seized a final hold over the town.

Soon I knew we would have to go back outside, reorganise our clan's armies, pass on orders, and bring order to chaos – the chaos we had created.

Turel left to do this, deciding that perhaps I was not to answer him, and maybe that was for the best.

I retreated to one of the windows and looked out at the scene before me. Our clans divided into groups, but all working together, each one told apart by the clan drapes that they wore. It was at this point I readjusted mine, altering one of the pauldron's straps so that it sat upon my shoulder more comfortably.

From the window I could see that upon one of the hills our clan flags were being raised. We had laid claim to this town, to this land, and the flags being hoisted proved that we had been successful. Everything here now belonged to us, to Lord Kain. Would anyone dare be foolish enough to question our claim?

Upon a pinnacle of rock, upon the hill that overshadowed the town, so the clan flags upon their poles were raised. Lord Kain's insignia billowed out upon its flag canvas; it was the first to be seen. Then following it was Raziel's, red material contrasting with the woven white of the Razielim crest. Afterwards in rank order the other clan flags were hoisted high, flapping proudly on their poles. Melchiah's was last.

As each flag was unfurled and displayed so it was the clans called out, 'for Lord Kain!' I too, unsheathing my sword and placing myself in a manner of respect, my head bowed. "For Lord Kain," I said, adding my voice to the many vocals of my vampire kin, knowing that through my words so my loyalty was fortified to my lord, master, and sire – Kain.

The clans calls continued, each one of them calling to their own lord's, calling each one of our names as each one of our insignia's were displayed. I heard my own children call, their voices carried on the nightly breeze, "For Lord Rahab!" and smiled inwardly. No one could replace the pride I felt for them.

Through the rising of our flags, our insignia's displaced, so it was this land was indeed ours. Our territory spread.

"Why is your soul darkened so, Melchiah?" I asked in turning to him. For I had noticed how much little attention he had paid to our victorious cries, not even giving a smile when his children called to him. Now he knelt next to the body of Zephon's last victim, it was almost a mirror image of how I had been moments before. I could see the questions he posed, the questions that probably ran through his mind.

"Melchiah, come, the mortal is dead."

"But, do you not see the waste?" he replied, wanting to prove a point.

"Waste?"

Melchiah, how fond I was of him. He was always the one who did not waste anything. He was the youngest of Lord Kain's sons, and the one who had received the smallest and last proportion of power from our sire. Therefore he was always putting things to use, as if it were he had to make do with what there was, whilst the older ones and I, took things in plenty. It is true that Melchiah certainly appreciated things more then what we ever did.

At this point in time, Melchiah was still undeveloped. He looked more like a freshly risen corpse then that of vampiric essence – a mortal who had been, but was no longer. Melchiah was always the last one to evolve, and his evolution was always a slow and highly agonising process, drawn out in the most enduring ways. Out of all of us, it was dear Melchiah who suffered the most.

Remembering the occasion when I had been there for his first state of metamorphosis, I found it easy to pity our younger brother. How fearful he had looked in those darkened chambers of his, choosing to have no candlelight within his quarters, for he explained to me that he could not stand to glance upon himself. And so, at times, he hid away. Hid away from everyone, including himself. Hiding behind his own forged mask of wanting to be like his older brethren.

Yet he remained blind to how much his own children loved his so, and how my own clan respected him through their own acknowledgement of my sympathy towards him.

How it was I had entered at that time of his first stage of metamorphosis. In speaking to some of his children, they had told me how he had locked himself within his own quarters, and that he had not been seen for a few nights. Of course I understood that he had moments like this. He could be so withdrawn at times, only emerging in summons of council, and dealing with his own clan affairs from the depths of his darkened chambers. This time, however, they said it was different. This time Melchiah would not allow any of his children to enter his quarters, or go near him. So it took me by surprise that the door opened when I had requested it to be.

Slowly I had entered, closing the door behind me and locking it so that none of his fledglings could follow. I knew that if they came to him they would only annoy him. Although his fledglings intentions were only ones of good – where it is they wished to comfort him, they would only irritate him. I knew this myself, having been in the situation that Melchiah was now in and experiencing, and yet not understanding.

"Melchiah!" I called out his name into the stale darkness. It was a silly gesture, for I knew all too well that he was there, somewhere. In glancing around I was only too thankful that my eyesight was sufficient enough to pierce the darkness of the room's overwhelming shadows.

"It is the change Melchiah. It happens to us all, including Lord Kain." I crept around a corner, my claws holding onto the wall as an extra guide in the gloom, and entered the main area of his chambers. "Fear it not, gentle brother! Come, tell me where you are!"

I stood still. As if to answer my calling, a door nearby opened. Thus I approached, entering the inner sanctum of Melchiah's chambers.

Upon an unclean bed of filth I found him, sweating and restless, sprawled out upon his back and desperate to find consolation. Deep in the heart of his own world, secluded from all that was going on outside. Secluded due to the shame he felt for himself, and choosing the stiff and forced darkness of his quarters, compared to that of the beautiful night.

"I do not think I can go through this, _brother._" The word 'brother' hung limply in the air, a word he was only just getting used to using.

"Be still, Melchiah. You can... You _must._" I had paused, thinking upon my words with care. "The change will empower you," I said. "It will make you stronger."

Melchiah's reply had been made in one that seemed much like the truth, and the threads of sadness clinging desperately to it. "But not so strong, and never strong enough. Not as strong as the others," he had said. "Not as strong as Dumah. Not as strong as Raziel."

"But strong enough, little brother. Strong enough..." That was my attempt to reassure him, and then to lay him back into the embracing arms of darkness, whilst removing the filth that he had lay in, and replacing them with cleaner blankets.

I did everything a servant should have been doing, and I am not sure why. Why was I not cruel and unforgiving, like Zephon? Or arrogant and egotistical like Dumah? Or wise and careful like Turel? And I certainly was not anything like our eldest – Raziel... loyal, proud, highly looked upon.

For a while I had remained with him, until I was certain that he was within rest. And upon leaving the inner chambers and residing within a courtyard, I approached one of his children. "Your Lord is within the grasps of rest," I spoke, whilst giving the Melchiahim a reassuring pat upon his shoulder. "Be at peace youngling, and tell the others, for when your master awakes he will be regained in his nobility."

I looked upon Melchiah now as he knelt next to the corpse, and repeated that same sentence within my mind. He was not as grand looking, or as strong as the rest of Lord Kain's sons, but the nobility was there.

Gently I knelt next to him, getting his attention by placing a set of claws upon his shoulder. _"You cannot take her," _I whispered, and lifted a stiff arm to prove my point. "Death has already claimed her. Nay little brother, she is too far gone."

There was reluctance there, but it was met with understanding. He could not make every dead corpse into a child of his own... It just did not work that way, no matter how much Melchiah wished it to be so.

We were all ready to leave; yet our process of leaving the building was only made swifter when from down below there was a sudden serge of noise, followed by a clatter – which suggested something had just fallen over, and then a scream.

"_Zephon..." _I hissed. For mortals normally only screamed like that when they had just come into contact with the Zephonim Lord, a sort of 'strangled' scream.

With Melchiah following behind me, we made haste down the stairs, out the door, and into the tiny courtyard below. What greeted us was but a collaboration of chaos, a scene of fierceness and confusion.

The predatory essence of all was apparent, a gathering made up of Zephon and an assortment of fierce fledglings from different clans. My own children were present, hissing with disgust at the captive that Zephon held onto tightly, as the mortal flayed and struggled within his ironclad grip.

And what prey had that vampiric lord caught now? A young woman trapped within the grips of Zephon's claws, like a fly caught in the web of a spider. She struggled constantly, whilst he held her firm, a twisted smile upon his face. But then Zephon cursed when the woman managed to strike him, and for but a split second she was free.

The gathering surged forwards, all reaching out for her, but grasping at nothing but the emptiness of air. Yet the Zephonim Lord was quick in his reaction, and suddenly achieved what the others had failed, grasping a hold of her arm and pulling her mercilessly back to him.

I was intrigued by this situation, and curious to find out what had caused this mêlée, whether Zephon had chosen her for another moment of jest and a bitter feed, or whether it was something more. Soon I was to get my answer.

Tightly within her hands she gripped onto one of the clans flags. It was frayed and in slight disarray. Compared to that of its former glory it was now nothing but a mere shadow of its former self.

The image of what had happened was swift to immerge, from sensing from the minds of others and her, of what exactly had happened.

Imagine, if you will, a scene where our clan flags dominate the hill next to the town. They are there to remind its people of those who now have say over this land. Yet in the ever-growing darkness, somehow, a figure manages to approach them and pull one from its pole.

The flag the woman held onto had one scorched corner. It suggested that she had hoped to burn it in a foolish moment to dishonour us. I chuckled in bitter distaste, for her plan had obviously failed. The wraith from whichever lord, whose flag she had attempted to destroy, would not be pleasant.

The flag waved in her hands. One of the Zephonim, in an attempt to assist his lord, tried to take it from her. Yet she would not let go. The majority of the flag was bundled into her arms, whilst the Zephonim only had a hold of one of its corners, his claws digging deeply into the material.

Zephon snarled in annoyance, and his child let go very quickly, backing away, knowing full well that his lord was not one to annoy. Thus it was then that I noticed whose flag it was. Upon the material, as the flag unravelled from her arms, was but my own insignia, the symbol of my clan – the Rahabim.

She had intended to burn _my_ flag, and in doing so disgrace my clan and myself. The punishment was unquestionable and absolute.

Without hesitation I drew my blade. The long, silvery cold point, shined with a gleam of anticipation. Zephon's face as he held the young woman showed exactly what he was thinking. A sinister smile, which suggested he was awaiting blood to be spilt, as he quelled all resistance that she fought, restraining her hands, which was small compared to his, in the grip of his left claws.

I knew what he was thinking, for he allowed me glimpses of his thoughts. His voice crept nimbly into the chambers of my mind, and at that time it was not welcome there.

'_Look at her Rahab. Look at her and despise her. See not what she has done? Insulted you and your clan... You know what must be done...'_

It was but my decision, and only mine.Only I had the rights to say whether she was to live or die, for it had been my flag she had intended to burn. To burn... she loathed us, there was no doubts in that. Perhaps then, I should make her loath us more.

Without hesitation I placed the blade of my sword close to her throat.


	3. Marked Chattel

**Two **  
_Marked Chattel_

No one can mistake the essence of fear, whether it is the fear of an immortal, or a mortal. How cold fear is, and how beautiful. Such an emotion that is so endearing in the bitterness of ice chill.

She had been so certain of her task, and so determined. Even now she fought against this situation, but she did so with doubt, doubt and fear. I could see it within her eyes, and savoured every moment, relishing in the fact that I could so easily over power her, that the fear she felt was due to me.

I would grace her soul and terrify her with my shadow. She could not hide from me, and I took pleasure in the thoughts that graced my mind. I was hunting her, sensing her fear. Her fear led me to her, and no matter where she hid and cowered; I would _always_ seek her out.

I narrowed my eyes and surveyed the scene. Those of my children that had been apart of this chaotic gathering, came close to, their teeth bared, their eyes aglow. And I enjoyed every moment of it. I would not be who I am if I had not.

The way her eyes widened as the coldness of the blade tenderly kissed her throat. Darkly, I wondered what reaction she would give if instead of that blade held steady to her throat, it were but me. Instead of the sharpness of the sword's edge, cutting lightly into her skin, it was but my lips, softly touching the warm membrane of skin – like a kiss, feeling the palpitation below, the echoed of blood flow, as her heart beat. Like Zephon I loved them, and I would hurt them all. I hungered for their blood as much as the next vampire, how could I not?

I would mark her as mine; run my claws cruelly down her skin, calling forth the blood that remained below the surface, so that I could drink from it. Wanting to taste her blood, to mingle her pure 'innocent' blood with the so-called 'filth' of my own.

I loved her because I hated her. Hated her because of the act she had carried out. And loved her for the blood that flowed through her, the blood that could quench the first that was always there inside of us. And hated her because she was mortal. She represented everything we loathed, as we to them stood to be everything they found 'disgusting' and 'unnatural'. What did they know? It was in my own nature to despise her, in times such as these – cruelty is the only path to choose if one wishes to survive.

"Brother," Zephon's voice cut through my thinking. "You hesitate?" That twisted smile once more, the one he would allow to show in moments where he was truly enjoying himself. "Is it your wish to make this duty mine?"

Oh I knew that he wanted this. I knew that he wanted to torment her for his own pleasure. How he would love to have her close, kissing, and soothing, and feeding from her.

With a drawn out slowness, he ran one of his claws along the soft cheek of her face, as if to trace a pattern that only he could see. She flinched but could not move away, held firm by him. Yet I have no doubts that should Zephon had loosened his grip, she would have remained there anyway. Sometimes darkness can be so alluring.

"_And so appealing she is." _A whisper, a hush of breath that gently stroked her skin. Then in leaning over, my younger brother rested his venomous lips next to her neck. "If you ask for forgiveness, I _could_ make you mine."

The words lingered within the air. Of course he did not mean it. Zephon world kill her regardless, for he did not need anymore 'pets' then the ones he had now, and his fledgling brood were managing fairly well. No, for now, Zephon could enjoy merely tormenting humanity without needing to rely on them.

Little by little he pushed the edge of my sword away from her neck. This was purely a game to him. I allowed him to, allowing him to weave the bitter and beguiling act that he spun between us, both held within trepidation.

"But first, you have to ask for forgiveness," Zephon said, and he pointed at me with one of his claws. Her eyes followed wearily, until it was mine were focussed upon hers. The predatory glow that radiated from me made fear hold tightly onto her. I saw her eyes flicker as I narrowed my own; I was not just frowning at her, but also Zephon.

"Look upon Lord Rahab..." Zephon's voice was calm, chilling, dark, and yet gentle. 'What are you planning,' I thought, watching him carry on this charade. When Zephon spoke and acted in such a manner you could always guarantee that he was plotting something.

Unexpectedly her arms dropped to her sides, as Zephon released his grasp. Of course this was done for his own advantage. For now he encircled her waste, pulling her even closer so that when he so choose, and at his own accord, he could feed from her with ease.

With his other hand Zephon continued to caress the side of her face, taking the long, slender and sharp point of his index claw and drawing it along her neck. He did it lightly and in such a fashion so that no blood was drawn, yet a gesture was forged.

"_Look upon Lord Rahab, and ask him to forgive you." _

Silence bayed her gentle hand upon the scene. Any fledglings that had gathered around us were quite. Mine were tense and pressing so close to me that I could feel the nearest one's pulsation of blood. Their teeth still showed, whilst every now and then a hiss would escape their lips.

'Be still...' I told my children through mind, and although they obeyed me, they also readied themselves to take action if it was so needed at any given moment.

Melchiah stood behind me. He too, was silent. In a way he was merely the watcher, watching Zephon and me unravel this situation, with a fascination that only a younger sibling could hold in watching their elder ones fight amongst themselves.

The tension was strong, and kept on building, like two heavy weights pulling at opposite ends on a worn piece of rope. I was certain that at any point that rope was indeed going to break – break and snap. It was truth that I could not bare the tautness of the situation anymore so.

If I was to bring a close upon her life then had I not better get on with it? Instead of bringing this heavy prolonged suffering upon everyone else. For it seemed only Zephon was enjoying this.

I paused in thinking and concluded my thoughts. If I killed, like I had so planned to, Zephon would enjoy it more. It I was to end this pitiful mortal's life then in theory, Zephon would win this battle. Could I allow such a thing? In my status, in my position, in the fact that I was older then him... Zephon _had_ to know his place, for it was how the clans and Lord Kain's council was run.

But the certainty remained firm inside of me. I ached for a taste of blood. It became apparent that not only was Zephon playing with her emotions, but also my own. Tempting me to only desire the taste of blood. This was a dangerous and reckless situation to be in; even the youngest fledgling knows that.

"_Enough..." _The words barely left my lips. My mouth felt as parched and as dry as any dehydrated mortal's would have in thirsting for water. But the element I desired to consume was a lot more complex then water. No one had to _die_ when a mortal thirsted.

Oh and this feeling! This feeling of just wanting to plunge my teeth into flesh, to gentle tear open ones throat, and enjoy with raw rapture what would come from such an act.

But I was not Zephon. True, I was a vampire, but I was not he. I was not Zephon, Zephon who insisted in provoking his prey, before drawing a close to their lives. I was different from the Zephonim Lord, for was I not nobler then that? If I was going to kill the mortal then I would do so for the sake of feeding, not through the joy of torment.

"Enough of your games, Zephon. Come, allow me to conclude this."

Zephon spoke no more. He was silenced completely, with no witty comments or comebacks to finalise the situation.

In retort of the situation, I eyed the flag that lay uselessly on the dirty and bloodstained ground. Its coarse material was already stained with blood and filth. How useful was it now? And then... and then I am not sure. The sight of the flag upon the floor, its texture distilled, tattered, ragged, and the noise around us. There was a smell of blood that lingered upon the air. It was enough in itself to arouse my thirst for blood. The night was worn, and it ached for an ending, a conclusion, as if it too desired rest, after having seen enough blood spilt to cover many canvases in a riot of ruddy crimson. What a waste of blood.

The rational thinker within me has always been perceptible. From the desires of what I want, so it is that I am balanced with the desire of what is right. Though not necessarily right in mortal opinion, I might add. Raziel once stated that I possessed a nobility that none of the others had. A certain way of thinking that allowed me not just to simply react on the spur of the moment, but also to think thing through carefully, and from which, make a desirable decision.

It became apparent nevertheless, that I hovered between two final outcomes. One would swing the pendulum of events one way, the other, would of course, push it another. Whatever way it was to go, fate was eager for an answer, for an outcome, a conclusion. No more words, just an action.

My blade, arching once more, was swift in movement, striking forwards so that it would hit its target dead on. There was no hesitation within my action and movement, for there was no reason to hesitate, just react and allow the consequences to play themselves out afterwards.

The blade passed the targets core gently, just gracing the surface and brushing underneath. My blade touched the rough flesh briefly, and then rested there. But it was not her flesh. Instead it was but the flesh and rough material of the flag.

I lifted the flag up; it rested upon the edge of my blade. I brought it swiftly to me, and held it up close to my face so that I could see the damage more closely.

Once more I glanced upon the grime imbedded deep within its textile. How fine it had once been, a materialistic reference to my clan. The insignia upon the flag still remained clear despite the damage... It could be mended, with patience. Yet it was not the damage of the flag that had riled the others – more so my children. It was more the gesture; the gesture of burning our flag was routed deep in spite and in insult. She wished us harm.

More moments passed. My brood were now all listening and waiting, feeling my own emotion through the spiritual blood bond that we all shared. They tilted upon the very edge of advance, and once more I settled them with words that only they could hear.

'_Hush my children. Be still and calm, no harm has come yet.'_

With one last look, my eyes rested upon Zephon. That smile upon his face was still present, willing me to do what was 'right'... _My right..._

Distantly I watched our captive flinch as my eyes fell upon her. It was like she expected and waited for the final conclusion, for the cold metal of my sword to run her through at any given moment. In a way it was as if she was willing me to do it, like if I was to strike her down I was fortifying her opinions and beliefs of vampires even more so. I would be fortifying her hatred.

To kill her would be allowing her thoughts on us to become a reality, the fact that we were basically monstrous, cold-blooded fiends. Would she die with a smile upon her face? I would not give Zephon, or her hatred, the satisfaction of such.

Lord Kain has always said that, 'there can be far worse things then death.' And looking back, I can see that he was right.

Though my blade now hovered in front of her, it was not done in a gesture of threat, or of hurt. The flag still hung over and balanced upon the edge of the blade, suspended and held in front of her.

"Take it," I said. My voice remained firm, yet deep inside there was a potent edge that suggested I was more then slightly weary of this situation. I was torn between bloody torment and just wanting to find solace in rest.

In many ways I desired to return to my own home, and I was not the only one restless. My children too, wished to return to our domain, to heal their wounds and sing glorious songs of our victories. This campaign had been a long one indeed. But we had taken part at Lord Kain's behest, and we would – I would, _never_ question him. My creator, my _sire_, my Lord, throughout it all, no matter what, I would remain by his side.

There had been no need for all the Clan Lords to be present in this campaign of 'land rights and ownership', but Lord Kain never takes chances, nor is he one to do things in half-measure. If there is land to be brought under his control then he will take it, no matter what. You can be sure of that. And so we had strove forth, our finest warriors selected – while the rest remained at home.

'Let us end this now,'I thought, as still the flag hung in a listless bliss in front of her, offering her way out. 'Let us return home.'

Whether the young woman would take the flag was another matter entirely. Yet I relied on her to take it, relied on her deeply. One foolish move and she would be cutting her own throat. Though I admit openly that it would be I who would be the one to rush forwards, take her in, and drink greedily from her, not caring if she was dying in my arms.

"Take it." Again my voice. If she did not take it this time then her fate would truly be sealed with a signature of her own refusal. I offered her a way out, a way out for both her and myself.

The young woman's hands wavered a little, but the Zephonim Lord was firm in his hold.

"Release her Zephon, she cannot flee." Yet again I narrowed my eyes, this being but the final moment. Zephon gazed at me in a passive and somewhat lazy manner predatorily manner. He released his grip on one of her hands, and yet made no effort to release the other. It mattered not a lot, for next I thrust the blade further in front of her, and then tilted it, allowing the flag to fall.

A requiem collaborated with her own choice – the one that I had offered to her. Now we waited for a response. If she did not take the flag then it was fair enough, after all it was her decision. There was nothing to fear in all honesty for if she did not accept my proposition nothing would go to waste. Consequently I _was_ thirsting.

The flag drifted ever downwards in no rampant manner. And the response she made was one I welcomed slightly. With the swift movement of her free hand, she reached out for the flag and grasped at it. She had been swift to respond, holding tightly onto it with an unsure curiosity.

"Now. Release her fully brother, I will take care of the situation from here."

Zephon scowled in a manner that radiated disapproval, and one that was obviously suggesting that he was not going to abide by my request.

"She holds my flag, Zephon. Indeed it was my flag she intended to burn. By fate she is marked as my property." I reminded him in the calmest of manner. If I had been Dumah I would not have been so polite. But then if that had been the case, and it had been Dumah in this situation and not I – being who Dumah was – he would have snatched the young woman from Zephon's restraints and fed off her without another thought. And Zephon would have been delighted.

"_You are not serious," _he hissed. His fledglings responded through their own hisses, sensing their master's displeasure.

In taking the flag so the young woman had fallen under my mark and insignia, in such a case she was now mine, and Zephon full of _endearing_ arrogance had not even fathomed what it was I was doing. That from such a gesture I was depriving him of a feed, and of course a moment of seeing yet another one suffer. Whatever he had planned, I knew from the beginning that even if I had played his game, it would not have been my feed, for Zephon was simply teasing me and challenging my position above him. It was something that happened within the clans all the time. We are, after all, predators, and it is but in our nature to challenge the hierarchy, though never Lord Kain. Lord Kain is someone who, if you know what is good for you, you will distance yourself from. Lord Kain, 'The Devourer of Worlds', he certainly did not get that title from being the gentlest creature.

Thus this fight was finalised. If I were to feed from the young woman, then I would do so at my own accord, and only then, not through Zephon's provoking.

My younger brother's face was sour due to the missing exhilaration that he was not going to have.

"Do you quarrel with my rights, Zephon," I asked, raising my eyebrows in suspicion. Surely not even he would be foolish enough to argue with his older sibling. It was an unwritten rule that we naturally respected the decisions and the say of those older than us. To not do so had its consequences. Yet that's not to say, as I said before, that the rule was not bent or totally discarded at times.

If at any point the tension threatened to shatter, it was now. Between us the atmosphere remained jagged and sharp, Zephon looking sly, whilst I breathed calm. My one set of claws were clenched, this was the only hint of the tension I was truly feeling.

"Calm yourself, Zephon." Raziel's voice suddenly broke through the atmosphere before any dispute erupted. Raziel, our eldest brother – the one who always finalised the disputes of matters, and always had the last word. The only person Raziel answered to was Lord Kain, and he never abused this power, whereas I dread to think what Zephon would have been like if he had been the eldest. No, I do not dread the thought, I fear it.

As one of my brethren, I loved Zephon dearly, if 'love' is the right word to use between vampiric kind, but I would – I could – _never_ trust him. Those who did embraced poison and met their demise at the kiss of the spider.

I turned to acknowledge our eldest, and no doubts Lord Kain's favourite amongst us – his first son, and second in command.

With Raziel, walking towards us, came Turel. Both of them were supporting a wounded Dumah. Ah yes, there was a revelation, Dumah the warlord of us all, the true warrior. Where as Zephon had a certain deviousness and slyness to him, Dumah was fierce and merciless at a majority of times.

Like Zephon, Dumah enjoyed tormenting humanity, whilst my own opinion remained blank. To say the very least I had no real thought towards humanity. I would not hesitate to kill one, should one annoy me, but I tolerated them perhaps a little more then most did. Maybe this was because I knew that to survive we needed the nourishment of blood. This of course, came from our human counterparts, and without them we would not have endured all the long centuries that we had. Our first conflict with them was not to destroy their race, but to simply bring them under our control. Lord Kain had always said that they were our cattle, a phrase which, not to disgrace my sire's honour, he gained from the vampire Vorador.

"What disturbance is this," Raziel asked, shifting Dumah slightly to support his weight.

Dumah's face was distilled with slight pain, arrogance and yet even more stubbornness then I had yet to see on his face. He, being the type who is wounded in battle and yet hates to admit defeat, and then goes on to refuse help from any that might offer it to him. This time, however, it seemed he had made a reluctant truce with the two brothers who helped in.

Though I worried for Dumah, and had not the situation been tense between Zephon and I, then I would have laughed to see him like that. Not through mockery, nay, more one of affection – for one so fierce and yet... yet this scene.

Those chosen of his children prattled somewhere nearby. And every one of his children felt his every wheezing breath of pain that he felt. And every time he flinched in movement, as the pain snared him, then so they did too. Oh and I could see the desire that they felt in wanting to go to him, to comfort him, to help heal him, to exchange some of their own blood with him to help heal him faster. But they held back, knowing all to well that Dumah's nature was a fierce one, and that he was liable to strike out at anyone of them who dared to come close.

From a distance I pitied them, and wondered whether Dumah ever found a certain loneliness in the seclusion he dealt himself. Yet it seemed not to bother him. Where as I was close to my clan, and yearned to feel their minds within my own, and yearned for their closeness, Dumah felt entirely different in regard to his clan. To him there were just a legion, one of his many. Soldiers, guards, knights, and nothing more.

Raziel's manner suggested that there was something of importance to discuss, and that we were to have council. For you could see it so, his emotion displayed upon his face and shown constantly throughout his eyes, that look of seriousness and unfaltering duty.

"Bring this fledgling-like brawl to an end," Raziel ordered, his voice stern, whilst he gazed deeply at Zephon and then at me. "There are more important issues to consider. Rahab, Zephon, Melchiah – finalise your orders and then come."

The Razielim were swift to take control, obeying Raziel's commands before he had even spoken them, just knowing what it was he wanted and desired through thought and mind. This was how strict and orderly the Razielim were, and it is not hard to see why there were considered Lord Kain's finest vampiric brood.

The gathering around us dispersed. It was not unaccustomed for the Razielim and Turelim to set our own fledglings in order, making sure that whilst they carried out their commands the others carried out theirs as well.

Orders were passed on from myself to my own personal generals; hitherto my perceptiveness was still upon Zephon just to make sure that no foul play was created. And with an acute passiveness he released the young woman fully.

She stared at the scenery around us. It was just her, Zephon and I now, Melchiah having gone to organise the Melchiahim. We were standing still, whilst around us it seemed the scenery moved.

Uncertainty and apprehension held the young woman still. Even if her desire would have been to flee, and I am certain it would have been, she would not have gotten far because of the ambiguity she felt.

It was I who approached her. Zephon still lingered in the background. And then, devoid of warning I struck her suddenly, my claws catching the skin upon her face sharply. She fell to the floor; blood coming from the mark my claws had left.

In that moment, what I had done was nothing compared to what the others would have done. In the act of what she had forged – some might call 'blasphemy' – a vampire like Dumah would have just silenced her and left it as that, as would have Zephon.

But something needed to be done, something to show that I was not allowing her to escape my wrath. And I was not. For just because I had let her live meant nothing... sometimes, as I have said before, at to once again quote my Lord Kain – 'there _are_ some things that are far more worse then death.' Perhaps now I can say that I know exactly what he means. Being trapped in your own hideous body might be one of them.

My reaction had been the final consequence to her act. Shown as a display of 'making an example', in pointing out that I was not a lord to be taken lightly.

Upon the floor she lay on her side, merely a fallen image in some terrible lament that she hoped she could escape. I noticed how it was everyone around us had stopped at that moment, and with a grim fascination they awaited what would happen next with baited breaths. I am glad they saw that moment, for it only highlighted my point, and from this lessons could be learnt – not underestimate or insult the Rahabim.

Gradually, with slight hesitation, she sat up. Her hand automatically rested upon her face. The blood that flowed lightly was most appealing, but I was stern with myself and upheld the firmest of discipline, moving away slightly, for her own sake. At least now she understood who was in control.

Slowly the clans resumed their tasks and orders, carrying on like nothing had happened. What I had done highlighted everything I wanted it to, though it had been harsh. But what did I care for such a wench?

But before this scene ended fully, another revelation was to be highlighted. As I looked up from the young woman I noticed that something caught the light and gleamed within Zephon's claws. His sword had been drawn, and only now was he sheathing it with a bitter twist of disappointment. He had intended to kill her regardless of my say.

I blinked and realised that in me striking her I had in fact knocked her away from Zephon's wrathful blade, for it would have been within that moment that he would have struck. Irony though it seemed, in my infliction so it was she had been denounced from Death's embrace. How strange Lady Fate is, and how she entwines us all.

"Come forth," I beckoned for two of my most trusted from the Rahabim, the two who had been close to me throughout it all. "Take her," I instructed, directing one of my claws to her, whilst my eyes never left Zephon. With my eyes, and through my gaze, I was warning him off like any other predator does when a fight may be caused through dispute over ones property.

"Put her with the others." I indicated the other mortals I had speared as my own from this town, salvaging from some of the wrecks of pillage and carnage, in understanding that some of then would make suitable servants.

'_Watch her carefully,'_ I told them. _'She is no ones feed but my own. Understood?'_

With one last glance at Zephon, I took my leave, to join Raziel and my brethren without another thought on the matter.


	4. The Shards of Peace

**Three **  
_The Shards of Peace_

"_How she calls to me, and how I love her.  
__Yet her voice destroys me, and burns my hearing.  
__She, who can so easily destroy our kind with but one single touch.  
__She who is the vampires natural enemy.  
__She who destroyed Raziel, the strongest of us.  
__She who chooses me as her lover. __  
__  
Time goes on, and I accept her love most willingly, though it hurts.  
__This is my gift, like it was Raziel's to have wings; yet to us both, such is our curse..."_

_**- As written upon bloodstained parchment found in former Rahabim territory - **_

The sun, freshly set, the night anew. The cliffs were my watches, and below was the most beautiful vista my newly established sight had ever beheld. Imagine the scene as it captured me so, a freshly shaped world that Lord Kain himself had forged, and so chosen us to help him in his task.

We were men, in form and appearance, newly risen vampires – fledgling lieutenants at Lord Kain's own desire. We were chosen by him to keep the land in order, an order that favoured our own kind, of course.

Though developed well by mortal age, in vampiric we were merely children. Lord Kain's sons, his 'Brood of Darkness', 'Children of the Night', curious and sometimes careless, as children often are. Yet from such acts of negligence, so it was that we learnt, and Lord Kain was swift to teach.

Upon the tapestry of this scene we stood, seven silhouettes below a faded night, the tides of time passed between us, but these tides could not move us.

Then it was that one silhouette moved away from the others, walking towards the edge of a forbidden moment.

I remember how I first felt when it captivated me. Water. How I had leant so close, nearly catching its surface. But I wished not to, wished not to disturb the surface, lest I disturb her beautiful façade. So I listened intently, hoping to catch the silvery voice of this translucent element.

The majority of the time I was quite possibly one of the most careful out of Lord Kain's brood. One might say timid, quiet, but always watching and listening. Nonetheless, when it came to the element of water, I forgot all worries and thoughts, becoming completely drowned in just hearing its silver whisper.

So it was the water was close to me. Indeed, still young in vampiric age, our empires none existent, and we were still newly developed and but merely a few nights old from out of awakening. This was the moment that Lord Kain had brought us out into the night for the first time, leaving the shelter of our crypt behind us. We had fed, and whilst allowing ourselves to digest the blood, we permitted our senses to attune to the night. Silently, we explored the many gifts that our newly developed senses offered us, testing their limits.

For a while the night sounds fascinated me, as did the world to which I had awoken to.

At that time there had been no explanation of how we came to be. We were simply here in existence, with but a few understandings, that Lord Kain was Master, Lord, Sire, our Father of Darkness. Those of mortal blood were our enemies, and that we should always, _always,_ be careful of who we bestowed our trust in – immortal or mortal it did not matter, for Lord Kain was swift to highlight that in time, both kinds could and would betray you.

All these new elements captivated me. I would be lying if I denied such. For a while I simply enjoyed hearing a distant howl of the wolf, or the stir of the wind... Yet something captivated me more, and that was the sound of water.

It was with a childlike curiosity that drew me to the waterside. One would think that I had never saw water before, though maybe I had as a mortal, when I had been a priest...

I digress and wonder from the story. For that I apologise. Not yet is it time to tell you of what I was, what the others were, what it is Lord Kain told me yesterday...

Or was it the night before... It could have been the night before that... I am not sure, not sure how long I have been here... Time does not matter here, it never really has... The darkness of this place suffocates everything, including time.

It was a river I knelt beside, looking into the depths, attempting to work out my reflection – the sharpness of the features upon my face, how it was my cheekbones were so notable, and my skin so pallid and pale. We were like sculptures, all of us, animated statues of the highest quality.

But soon I was to ignore my reflection and take more notice of the water. The water was too alluring, and the mirrored image of myself was there to flatter me, to tempt me to come closer, and I was far from understanding the danger of the waters touch.

Lord Kain had yet to tell us about the dangers some elements posed against us, water being one of the most deadly. Nevertheless, I _should_ have understood this, and known before acting so blindly.

I stood upon the very edge of a new discovery, and at the same time so close to destroying myself, for she was not yet ready to accept me.

The tranquil, lucid surface was mesmerising in a way. Calling, beckoning. I was drawn to it, drawn and pulled, though I am not certain why it has always captured me so. Just, the element of water seems to hold peace, peace and the solace I have always wanted to find within myself. Peace within my soul. Though, like myself, water has another side to it. Though peaceful, reflective and calm, it can also be fierce and destructive. Perhaps that is why I like this element so, because she remains to be a reflection of myself.

And it was through all these thoughts that I dared to step even closer to the waters edge. My mind was focussed upon one foolish humanlike thought... Why drink blood if you could but drink from this pure element?

But I was being conceited, and inside I wanted more then to just taste her. And when it was I was just about to step into the beauty of this cerulean element so it was the master spoke.

"Raziel." Lord Kain's voice had been deadly calm. "Stop your thoughtless brother, before he decimates himself. I have no intention of resurrecting him once again, should he be so foolish as to fall into the water."

The word 'decimate' was far from me. My mind was not clear, and my thoughts were mixed and clouded with one thousand different whispers that might have been long forgotten memories and shadows of the past. To say the very least, I had no clear understanding of what the word 'decimate' meant. I had thought that we were resolute, that nothing could harm us! How wrong I was. Immortal, yes, but indestructible? No. For immortal we are, but only spared from the grasps of time and the weathering of age.

Raziel was swift to respond to Lord Kain's request. Raziel the oldest, and already adapting to his new world rather adequately. From such my older brother began to lead me away from the danger, one of his then human shaped hands, laced around my arm. The only indication then of the transformation our hands would endure were the sharp brittle black nails at the end of each finger.

So Raziel led his foolish younger brother from danger, yet not before a lesson could be learnt, and lessons are normally learnt through pain. It is how they become lessons, and how we are not likely to forget them.

Lord Kain haltered Raziel's movement. Then without speaking any words he rested his claws upon either of my shoulders and bayed me to kneel. I did so without dispute, intrigued to see where this was leading. Next to me Lord Kain also knelt, and then drew my attention to the water.

For a moment Lord Kain's claws lingered over the waters surface, hovering, contemplating in what seemed like hesitation yet more so thought.

"Take heed in the elements," Lord Kain said. His voice and face was devoid of any emotion as he took a hold of my hand, which like Raziel's at the time, was still mortal looking. With this gesture he fortified the lesson he was to teach me. The lesson he was to teach us all.

The result from the lesson was absolute, and the pain – consuming. A sudden hurt that gnawed deep into my hand, the feeling as if it was being devoured by fire. And for moments I thought that my skin would fall from the bone. I had my eyes closed in a bitter instant, a shrill cry escaping my lips. This pain that sent burning shivers through my hand, made its way up my arm, and exploded in the very nerves of my mind.

"Master, sire! My hand, this pain!"

When I opened my eyes I realised what was causing the pain, that it was but the tips of my fingers that were touching the water. From that moment onwards I came to realise and understand just what water could do to us. I had not realised that from a simple touch, or a simple drop of the liquid upon our skin, it could cause so much torture.

The demonstration only lasted for but a brief second, yet the pain afterwards radiated for what felt like nights.

"You see, Rahab," Lord Kain said, his voice still calm. He closed his own claws around my fragile, mortal looking and wounded hand as if to dull the pain. "Water burns us as if it is acid. It is tempting and alluring, but so are most things that remain to be a danger to us. Water is a natural enemy to our kind. Be careful around such." Though Lord Kain's claws were still clenched around my hand, and though he spoke to me, Lord Kain's eyes rested upon Raziel.

Lord Kain's warning taught me well that night. But it did not hold me back from admiring this deadly element. I just admired it from a safe distance.

It was through recalling this memory that I awoke, clutching my hand in the darkness as if it still burnt. My hand, I looked at it. No longer was it such the delicate hand with the nimble human fingers that had once been skilled in many crafts. Instead those fingers had been replaced with large claws – sharp, brutal and liable to kill with one swift strike if I so desired.

In the consoling dimness of the room I lay upon a bed of soft blankets. My chosen Rahabim lay close, lying in union to that of my body. In turning over carefully, I could feel the breath of one upon the back of my neck. Though vampiric children they still breathed, though merely out of habit then need, however.

Feeling the movement of a chest rising and then lowering with the movement of respiration brought an odd sensation of comfort to me, especially in the early hours of a fading day. It brought reassurance, that though not exactly 'alive' in the sense of being 'mortal', I was still, nevertheless, apart of the world, still interacting within it.

There was no noise, forever silence. The door to the room was closed, and I knew that outside the door my guards were on watch. This too was reassuring.

I mused, mortals had once dwelt in this house, and now it was ours. Though not the perfect vampiric adobe like what we were used to back in our own clan dwellings, it served us well for that day.

Ah, those blissful, blessed moments! How I savoured them highly. Those close to me, keeping each other warm, myself included. The feel of their unnatural heartbeats, feeling their pulse beneath their skin, a communication between bonds hallowed deep and shared through our connection in crimson. To have them close to me was everything.

A fledgling stirred near me, their claws catching my skin as they turned in a moment of restlessness. Another one nestled deep into my back, profound in the embracing arms of rest.

I opened my eyes, and stretched carefully, so as not to disturb the others. How easy it would be, to lie like this forever, and how much I desired it, for it to be forever this way. The thoughts of just being here for eternity were overwhelming and extremely desirable. To just allow rest to come and go, to allow rest to grace my body and do what she pleased, whilst feeling the closeness of my own so near.

These select few who rested with me acted as security and protection. Should someone tempt fate, and get past my guards and break into this room in hope of slaying me, then by disturbance, if I did not awake so quickly from rest, they would. Thus they would be swift to protect and alert me to the danger. And of course, they also served as company. Vampires we are, but do you not think that we do not feel loneliness? Nay, not true, we feel it, and often yearn to be near others of our kind.

The other Rahabim were in rest elsewhere, but still close, their minds all within my own. I was content, knowing that they too, were safe.

I sighed as I regarded the room that I had chosen as my sanctuary for the night, through half closed eyes. Gentle shadows played upon the walls, whilst the rest of the room remained at peace. This room, nothing too grand, but a place of shelter, where we could rest in safety from the prying eyes of the light.

I remember how deep down I had hoped that it would remain this way for a while yet, the sun not yet fully gone from the sky. Just a few more moments with my chosen...

Yet a figure that emerged itself in the doorway suddenly jolted me out of the embrace of rest, causing me to sit up very quickly.

"_Raziel..." _I muttered, snorting in slight contempt at peace being disturbed, and rubbing the temples of my forehead, trying to calm the vertigo that had suddenly arose due to sitting up quickly.

My elder laughed gently. "I apologise, Rahab, did I awaken you?"

"Nay, Raziel. I was already awake... Regrettably." Absentmindedly, I brushed the long strands of fringe out of one of the fledglings closed eyes.

"What brings you to my door at such an early hour?"

"I was hoping to speak with the learned one of us – the scholar." Raziel looked over to where it was I sat. One of my fledglings sat up, rising suddenly and automatically because his master had risen.

Having followed Raziel's gaze, I turned and regarded the fledgling. There was a dazed look upon his face, the look of someone having just awoken from the depths of rest. Tenderly I rested a set of claws upon his shoulder and bayed him rest. In doing so he allowed himself to gently fall back, eyes closed once more.

"Ah," I concluded, gently pulling myself from the twisted threads of blankets and sprawled fledglings. "Perhaps Turel would be better then?"

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my claws and stretched yet again as I made my way across the room. The night was going to be a cold one. I could sense the chill of it in the air from the strands of a passing evening and an oncoming night. With slight remorse I shuddered slightly, sad that I was going to have to take my leave of peace and instead take back my place in the realms of regulation and duties once more.

"Rahab,"

I turned to Raziel as he passed me my garb.

"I asked for you."

In nodding I replied, "If my elder requests," and slipped into my garb.

We remained inside whilst it was the last remnants of sun were still present, though it was now beginning to give way to the moon. We walked down one corridor whilst I strapped on my armour, securing straps, and buckling buckles tight.

"How is Dumah faring," I asked in random conversation, yet with true concern.

Raziel brought a claw to his chin in thought. "Dumah..." he mused. "Dumah remains to be the stubborn one of us, but he is faring well. Healing at the very least. Though I am afraid his pride will take a bit longer to mend."

In knowing this all to well I smirked, yet the smirk was soon to be replaced by a look of slight unease. "He will have to be careful. I fear that perhaps, from time to time, his pride consumes him. If he allows this to happen – it might be his downfall."

"From what direction did that prediction come from, Rahab?" Raziel's tone was one of slight surprise, but was there any reason to be surprised? For we all knew how Dumah could be at times, headstrong, and such, we all knew deep down, could result in his defeat.

"It is not a prediction, just an observation."

"Then my younger brother truly is the scholar." Raziel smiled. "Dumah will be fine. We shall watch over him."

I sighed, "And keep his head above the waves of arrogance, lest we want him to drown in the depths of such."

"Indeed." Raziel patted me on my shoulder and opened the door to another room.

Human opposition was faltering. Once they had been strong, yet now they were beginning to crumble, their kingdoms being devoured by that of Lord Kain's. Nosgoth was preparing itself for a new rule, a new renaissance, a new beginning, and the time of the vampire was beginning once more. It was a result we all welcomed. However, there was but another conclusion that was fighting for a stance. For although we took land by the plenty, and captured each town and city, there still seemed to be some who eluded us.

Lord Kain's rule was ironclad, yet there were groups of mortals who, somehow, escaped us. It was these groups that set up a human resistance – a barrier which would eventually evolve into a rugged city that offered protection to their kind from us – the vampire threat, the so-called 'poison of the land'. How divine. A city where its people waited for a savour to help them purge us from the land, forever.

Through this group so it was their dilapidated hunters were gathered. Living out some long lost requiem of all those who came before them, all those hunters who had been united under one banner and stirred by the poisonous words of the Time-streamer Moebius. It had been them who had hunted and eventually executed the great vampire Vorador, and now generations later a new breed of 'rag-tag' hunters rode forwards in hopes of achieving what their ancestors had nearly achieved before. The total annihilation of vampires.

Their ancestors would have succeeded in their task of destroying all of vampiric heritage, _if_ it had not been for Lord Kain. No one had expected the young fledgling Kain to be successful in making sure that his race survived against all odds. No one had expected Kain.

The humans mustered what strength they could for the final aftermath. Although not a great threat, they still managed to pick off the younger of our clans – the fledglings and newly developed of our kin, for they were all easy pray for them. It brought us to the ultimate conclusion – we wanted them silenced.

Somewhere, out there in the vast landscape of Nosgoth, was this 'dwelling', where this 'resistance' amassed, a place where they lingered and _cowered._ The one thing we needed to know was where it was this city of renegades was. It was one piece of the puzzle that we were missing.

"You look fatigued," I commented, as Raziel unrolled a map and made sure the edges would not flay by putting candleholders upon the corners.

"Nonsense," was his reply. He ran one of his claws along a thin margin of land upon the map. He was loyal, fiercely loyal and always determined; I would credit him for that.

Our council the night before had been stretched until it was the first strands of morning's light had peeked in through the cracks of the sealed door. At this point Raziel had drawn the council to a close.

Before it had ended we had spoken of this resistance, how it was that the towns were now being more guarded than ones we had taken before. They were planning something, that was obvious – just what, we did not know.

The mortals we took for interrogation did not know either, or at least, they died before it as they could pass the information onto us. You see, as Zephon would say, 'Pain has its advantages, and yet it also has its disadvantages. But allow the pendulum to swing, and see what we can gain from such.' I must admit, even he had his moments where he could say something of intellectual quality, even if it was still hinted with the want of blood.

And so the six Vampire Lords had gathered. Raziel and Turel briefed us about the outcome of this situation, this siege we had waylaid upon this land, and the conclusions drawn in doing so.

"But this is far from over," Turel had concluded, glancing at Raziel to see if our eldest had any last words.

Dumah shifted in his chair with added anticipation, his wounds were healing but their scars were still present. I could see the eagerness in his eyes, the zeal and wanting he had for more land. It was like it was the ultimate test to him, a way to prove himself, a way to show all that he was strong and quite gifted in the arts of warfare.

"And from here – our next target," Dumah had asked. "Where is it Lord Kain wishes us to go?"

"We are to return," Raziel replied. "Lord Kain wishes us to draw back – for now. But only for now."

In the background I stood, forever silent.

"To withdraw?" It was Zephon who raised the question, his eyes sly, yet Dumah pressed the question onwards.

"It is unlike Lord Kain to request such, there is still..."

"Do not question Lord Kain," I added firmly, my voice picking up from the background. In hearing my voice, the others turned in their seats to look upon me. I ignored Dumah's acidic look and returned the gaze of the group.

"Will you not join us, Rahab?" Turel gestured towards an empty seat at the table. I nodded and took my place, and then it was we sat together and brought other matters forth.

When the map was fully opened, secured, and Raziel silenced as he contemplated it, so I drew near with curiosity, curious to see why he had requested my help.

As Raziel paused in his contemplation, I noticed that one of his claws lingered over a certain stretch of land. I gazed downwards to see the area that his one claw was circling.

"What do you know about this piece of land?"

From reading parchment and scraps of long forgotten and decayed books, from reading wherever it was writing lingered, and from reading the minds of my victims, so it was my knowledge grew. With bits and pieces of information I acquired, so it was I pieced them together – always learning what I could, when I could. When I was feeding, I was not only feeding my lust, but also my mind, feeding it with knowledge that I gathered from my prey.

I turned the map towards me, nearly knocking over a candleholder in the process. Raziel gritted his teeth and hastily caught the candleholder, and then moved it out of the way, for fire was yet another element that could quite easily destroy us.

With what geography I had acquired so it was I studied the land that he had asked me about, noticing how close it was to the water, and of course its direct compass position compared to the other landmarks.

After a few moments I adverted my gaze from the map and back to Raziel. I pushed strands of hair out of my eyes, having forgotten to secure it back after awakening. Though I knew not much about that part of land he had asked about, I had briefly heard of it.

"The Abbey," I stated blankly, affectionately running one of my own claws along the highlighted points of water and land. "I know not much of it, only that which comes from myth and legend."

Raziel leant on the edge of the table, his claws digging into the wood. As I gazed passively at him I noticed how ominous he could look within the right shade, what with the oncoming darkness and the gentle flicker of candlelight upon his face – highlighting the shape of it, his sharp cheekbones, and the curves and lines of his face, and the veins underneath his skin. How the mortals were fascinated by him, and yet also terrified by his presence all at the same time.

"And what abbey do you speak of," Raziel asked, his yellow eyes flickering with an interest that had a devious yet noble hint to it.

"It is said that there is an abbey there, a part of land that holds its own legends and obscurities. But the stories are long, and fragmented." I gestured and smirked. "As about as fragmented as our own history."

Raziel ignored the one comment and went on to ask, "Would it be possible for mortals to dwell there?"

"That I am not sure about." For a moment I was silenced in thought. "It could be possible, it _is _idealistic, is it not? So close to the water..."

"More then enough." Raziel smiled and took the map back before taking a seat in a nearby chair.

I thought I heard him sigh heavily as he allowed himself to rest for a couple of moments. It could not have been easy being Lord Kain's firstborn. Yet something inside of me whispered and hinted at the fact that he had been through all this before. He was used to being the oldest, he was used to being the leader – the one in charge.

The room lulled itself into peace when no more did we speak. As Raziel relaxed so did the atmosphere. I stood to attention, my stance firm, claws clasped tightly behind my back. I considered my own thoughts for a while, whilst around me I became aware that elsewhere others were awakening with the forthcoming of a new night.

"What was that dispute with Zephon about last night," Raziel asked, looking up.

"It was not a dispute, merely a misunderstanding. Zephon was overstepping his mark."

"There was a mortal involved."

"Indeed. My property. Zephon must come to understand that he can not have everything that he wishes to have."

"It was female."

"Merely property."

Raziel raised his eyebrows in a way that I have seen Lord Kain do many times before, his claws resting lightly on his chin. "I see."

Through a flaccid gaze I looked upon Raziel, I was about to reply, "Zephon has to..." but was stopped in mid sentence, as it was the door to the room was flung open and with it came a Razielim, who literally fell through the doorway.

Raziel's child stumbled to his knees. "Lord Raziel," he gasped, looking up at his master through stands of thick brown hair. His eyes were glazed over and diluted. And then he noticed me and bowed his head. "Lord Rahab." The fledgling was obviously out of breath. "My Lords..." He scrambled to his feet.

Peace was shattered and everything was forced into motion.

Raziel shot up from his chair with a motion that showed great urgency. His eyes narrowed with sudden realisation, picking up the threads of his child's mind before it was even his child could speak of the impending ruin.


	5. The Fires of Resistance

**Four  
**_The Fires of Resistance_

I am not sure why we had not realised before; that the building we were in was on fire. Perhaps Raziel was too caught up in his own thoughts, his mind entangled within the next plans of action, and my own ensnared within the points of geography upon the map that I had studied moments before the Razielim had come crashing through the doorway.

And where had been our guards to alert us of such danger, where had been the call to arms? Why had it taken so much time for one solitary vampire to reach us and warn us of the danger? The answer I sought would be given in following Raziel.

I felt the heat upon my face. I heard the sound of the flames, consuming all that stood their way. And in the distance, at the back of my mind – the threads of my mentality that were still conscious to the situation and had not been mesmerised by the heat and flames of the fire like some of my thoughts – was the faint and distant voice of Raziel telling me to get out.

For but a brief moment I foolishly stood rooted to the spot. The mass of a catalytic warning was beginning to run through my mind, developing a burning sensation which consumed my thoughts and screamed of the danger that we were all in.

Fire. It is one of the most dangerous elements a vampire can come into contact with. I admire water and have loved it so for many centuries. Fire, however, has always remained to be my enemy. It is a greedy element, one that will not hesitate to consume all.

A vampire's skin can repair itself quite efficiently to cuts and deadly wounds. It has also been known that, at times, should a body remain intact, that a vampire's soul can find its former shell and thus resurrect itself – becoming a much stronger vampire then before. Nonetheless, such resurrection has its downfalls, for a vampire's soul cannot return to such a body if it remains impaled, or obviously, if the body is no longer in existence – for example, it had been destroyed by water or fire.

That is why, whenever vampire hunter can, they will destroy a vampire's body. You see, our mortal opponents see fire as a 'purifying' element. When they set fire to a vampire's carcass they delude themselves with the thoughts that they are purifying the soul. To them, they consider vampiric blood to be little more than a poison. They say that we are those who are the cursed, those of poisoned blood. They do not see our nobility.

The room was ablaze. The guards that should have alerted us to the danger no longer moved. Lifeless. Destroyed. Empty. The vacant husks of their former bodies lay motionless upon the floor – no longer needed for their souls had already left the bodies that they had been chained to. Now, with those chains broken, and their bodies ripped asunder, so their life force was free to spill into the next realm – or wherever it is that souls do linger after life.

Despite the scene around us I stood still, staring at the forgotten bodies of those that had once been Raziel's children.

"Foolish Rahab, back!" Raziel's voice. The vocals of such echoed in the chambers of my mind, calling me back to the moment at hand.

"Rahab!"

It was with suddenness that I came to realise that we were not alone in this burning furnace. It was the realisation that brought forth the equalisation that it was not just Raziel and I, not just the soulless bodies of his dead children upon the floor. The realisation that between calling to me, Raziel fought.

Of course. I should have known that those who had started the fire would not be far away. It was common knowledge that the vampire hunters, in all their self-righteousness, were most dedicated to their cause.

All too suddenly I became aware of someone looming behind me. My vampiric senses picked up upon the sudden footfalls, and the noise of a highly sharpened weapon piercing the air as it was thrust forwards.

I felt the sensation of skin being torn open as the blade of a sword sliced through it. With that sudden and surprising sensation of pain so it was I gritted my teeth, holding back the sudden cry of revelation that threatened to break loose at any given moment.

I fell forwards, twisting sideways on my heel so as to confront the bastard who had dared destroy Raziel's children, and in the aftermath so had the nerve to waylay _me,_ and no doubtfully hope to end my own existence.

The cut was but a graze, and healed itself within moments. The pain it had caused was more so through the aliment of my own self-worth, and sudden alarm of having such a whelp of a mortal creep up upon me.

It was as my hands automatically made way towards where it was my scabbard usually hung, that I cursed myself for allowing my mind to wander and thus allow myself to be caught off guard. I was deeply thankful for the fact that Lord Kain had not been there to witness my moment of folly, for it would have pained me to see the disappointment upon his face that I would even dare allow a mortal such a free moment of where he could gain advantage.

In the future, I made myself swear, I would not be so sentimental in the loss of others, because such, as demonstrated at that moment in time, could result in the separation of my own soul from its body. And then what would happen to my clan? Who would govern and lead the Rahabim if not the Rahabim Lord?

It seemed that foolishness was not to leave anytime soon. In the moment of loss of good sense that was to follow my actions, it all too quickly dawned upon me that both my weapon, and its scabbard, was still back within the room that I had previously rested in.

An image meandered through my mind. It was the afterthought of my folly and the resulting consequences. The scene developed within my mind as I thought back to when I had last had my sword. It was the scene of the fledglings that had gained entry into my temporary chambers and thus spent the night resting with me. They were at peace and completely unaware of the chaos breaking out within the other end of the building. And there, upon the table near the bed I had lain upon, was my sword and its sheath. They had been completely forgotten to me in the moment that Raziel had asked me to go with him. But then, I had not been expecting anyone to attack us when already we had claimed this town and its land in the name of Lord Kain.

'_Up! Wake, linger no more here!' _A whisper through mind, and I sent it to my children as I narrowly dodged a torch of flame that Raziel had knocked out of one of the hands of his opponent.

Within a moment like this one, an image of being without a weapon can torment even the strongest warriors. Consequently not only did my body suffer a wound or two, but also my pride at being waylaid in such a manner.

Yet a true warrior is not just the one who is the most skilful fighter. For in times when we have allowed one of our children to fight that of another from a different clan, I have seen a weak fighter survive through cunning alone. A skilful fighter is not just good with a weapon, but also one who can think quickly and cleverly in a situation of peril, one of quick wit and slyness. That is why Lord Kain has always been an exceptional warrior.

To say I was without a weapon is thoughtlessness. For I, and all those of vampiric blood, have an advantage over the fragility that is the mortal knight. A mortal without a sword, a lance, a halberd, a crossbow, for the extreme – a flamethrower – or any other weapon, is in for a difficult battle. Yet should we, we of vampire kin, ever be caught 'weapon less', then we have something that can, well let's just say – be deadlier then any weapon.

I clenched my claws.

He would not leave this building alive. I would not allow it. This was the promise that I hissed to the fallen, and to him, between gritted teeth, as I advanced onwards.

With all my strength I launched myself forwards, part of me reckless, but a more dominant part of me striving for vengeance. I would not allow him to escape and thus return to tell his foolish comrades of his victory in whatever cowardly crevice they hid within. He would pay dearly for the noble blood he had spilt, and he would pay for it with his own.

As I drove myself onwards, claws exposed – seeking out to slice the veins that channelled life around his body, Raziel was holding his own.

From behind us there came the dull sound of wood splintering as a table was broken, metal armour hitting solid stonewall, and human flesh meeting red hot fire and the scream of such an action. Raziel's other opponent grunted, his head slamming backwards at an awkward angle. Raziel's claws were wrapped tightly around his opponent's throat as he lifted him from the floor. His blade was tarnished with the element of the living, in union, so was his lips.

His opponent wore no helm, and in such times, that is how many of the hunters came clad – adorned in ramshackled and old dented armour, salvaged from the graveyards of time.

They wore oddments of armour, some clad in mismatching gauntlets, others with pauldron's that dwarfed them because they were much too big for them. It did not really matter to them what the size, as long as it offered substantial protection. Yet even that was debatable, because one could not help but notice some of the worn leather straps that fixed some pieces of armour to their bodies. Other times one would see tightly tied twine in place of the leather straps that had long ago rotted due to lack of treatment, or simply worn away by time's loving hands.

These were the soldiers of humanity, left to try and defend what they could. Left to fight in ramshackled armour and rusting weapons because they lacked the resources to make finer ones. It was a sad scene, one might think. But to us, they were little more then a nuisance that needed taming and brought under our rule. What did we care about them?

They had not always been this way. Lord Kain told tales sometimes, of when it had been the vampiric race that had clung to the remnants of battlements and left over armour, and humanity had been the owner of armies with shining armour so splendid and fine, and sharp, fierce weapons.

Some of my books told accounts of the Sarafan – what were to be known as the 'Angels of Light'. They had been the finest example of humanities highest pinnacle in the way of chivalry, until their downfall. Of course history speaks, and it is recorded, that the Sarafan rose again, so many, many years later – as strong and fierce then before, but never like those of what humanity regarded as the 'Finer Days'.

My adversary swung his sword with what became clear as a natural expertise. I dodged and blocked, the blade of his sword clashed against my claws, which I used to my advantage – quite thankful for all the periods of evolution and combined metamorphosis, which had sharpened and strengthened them.

I bowed low, ducking underneath the malice of his biting blade and its cruel edge, and then strategically advancing for my own attack whenever a chance presented itself.

With the built up anger stored inside of me, I was able to gather together a short burst of telekinetic force that knocked him away from me and to the ground.

"_Foolish one,_" I chided, my voice but a mere venomous whisper. The annoyance within me rose. The heat was getting to me, pushing my usually claim exterior to a point of rage, yet predatory excitement.

My skin was filthy with sweat and blood. It stung from his swift attacks, but mainly from the heat of the flames. My eyes too, were swore, like someone had gouged them on the point of two red hot pokers and then allowed them to roast slowly over an open fire. I became aware that they were weeping, and as a result fought my opponent a majority of the time through narrowed eyes. Not through choice, or in the display of an over-surge of anger, but due to the fact that I had very little choice.

It was here, at this moment, that I first became aware that out of all of the brethren, it was I – and therefore my clan – who was the most effected by light, and heat and fire. As time moved on my weakness was to become more fatal, until it was I could barely stand to look upon the sight of an open fire without crying out and covering my eyes in agony.

I could bear to be within this room no longer. It felt that at any moment I would combust, my bones shattering to a fine dust.

But I had to continue to endure the heat for as long as my opponent stayed alive, lest I give myself to the open maw of oblivion.

I tossed my head back so as to remove the strands of slick and sweaty hair from my face and out of my seeping eyes. I was the vengeful ocean, crashing its waves against a ship so as to throw it against the jagged and forbidding cliff-side.

"What was it you hoped to do?" I was spiteful and callous, tormenting him in his moment of turmoil. "Kill our children? Kill us, _your_ Lords?" I laughed, and once again threw back my head in a moment of exhilaration that only hunting can bring, my face streaked and stained with blood and the weeping substance from my eyes.

He rolled sideward and in one fluid moment he was back upon his feet, twisting in an instant of parry, his sword arching and turning swiftly in harmony with every movement that he did make.

The blade caught me in his deadly swing, slicing through the skin of my unprotected torso. This time I could not hold back the cry of pain that came with the agonizing touch of his sword as its malicious bite cut through the texture of my skin.

My skin, raw from the heat of the flames, and now the pain heightened more so through the cut of his sword.

And with the severing wound came my blood.

My moment of wildness made me fledgling-like. Fledgling-like in the sense that when a vampire is first made they believe themselves to be indestructible. They will cavort around with all the blood of their elders flowing within them, dancing daringly with Death because they believe that Death cannot touch them. What they do not realise is that vampires are immortal only in the sense that they are spared from time's touch. And whilst they can survive wounds and abrasions that would kill a mere mortal, they are not spared from destruction completely.

Therefore fledglings are often surprised and shocked when they find out they can still be cut and bleed from such. I have seen many incidences where a fledgling has simply been fascinated by the sight of their own blood, and even the taste, to which they have sat on the floor of my halls and licked their cuts. It is almost like they had never seen blood before.

Suddenly I was clumsy, fumbling to stop the blood from flowing. I looked intently at my claws and the blood that covered them. It was a look that might suggest to any onlookers that I could not quite believe that upon my hands was _my_ blood, and not his.

I imagined that underneath that helm of his he was smiling at the thought of the wound he had inflicted, and the staggered look upon my face that a mortal had actually managed to hurt _me._

With a look of absent amusement I regarded my own blood once more. It was slightly darker in colour then that of mortals, and as I brought a blooded claw to my lips, so as to lick the blood, it did not taste the same either, so I discovered. Gone was the coppery and distinctive taste that makes vampires refer to mortals as having 'sweet blood', when in reality this is not true. Instead, my own, this vampiric blood, tasted old, refined, and laced throughout with time, the knowledge that came with such, and all the eternity of hereafter.

'_Heal,'_ I thought, commanding my skin to repair itself, and to do so quickly. I stared at the piece of skin that hung flaccidly from my torso, glaring at it and bidding it to rejoin with the other pieces of membrane, for the cells to meet and knit and weave throughout each other once more.

The moment of our battle had been paused. My opponent watched me with morbid curiosity. The kind of curiosity that holds you fast and bids you to look upon a highly macabre scene, even if you wish to do nothing more but to close your eyes. And for some reason, no matter how much you want to look away, you never can. For you are forced, compelled, to look upon the setting in front of you.

I contemplated the situation. My adversary continued to stare at me, breathing heavily, his sword gripped tightly. The edge of the sword's blade was painted crimson, tipped with my own blood. Slowly he began to back out of the room, to which I followed him, walking with interest into the next room, and leaving Raziel to fight the remainders of the others in that hellish inferno.

I did not worry for Raziel. Nay, he was quite capable of looking after himself. He was, after all, Lord Kain's 'right hand', as my Lord had called him many times before.

With a darkened grin I brought my left hand to my torso and with one claw gently and delicately pushed the flap of skin back towards my chest.

With that one gesture, that one small interlude, so the battle resumed. At least out here, away from the main fire, I had a better chance of staying focussed. Yet, in a moment of weakness, so it was he seized his chance of conquering me.

Without hesitation my opponent leapt forward, slamming into me – his blade ever striking sharply, gleaming deadly in what light there was around us. His sword was adorned with a deadly blade with a hunger all of its own, as onwards it once again sought for some unprotected skin to cut. But I was quick to consol myself, and put aside my pain.

I redeemed myself for my moment of recklessness, and regained my balance before it was I could topple backwards into the previous room, where it was the flames roared at the back of me.

Backing swiftly away I turned on my heel, but with all his force he dived for me once more.

I allowed him to do so. I waited – as if preparing myself to welcome his advancement – allowing him to come forth, until it was the tip of his sword was but a small way from once again penetrating my skin.

It happened so quickly that not even the foolish mortal could believe his own eyes. The scene was set. Him, with full force, unleashed a deadly volley, his sword pointing outwards, and me, standing very still and anticipating his attack.

Yet before his sword could strike me down, to his astonishment, I had gone. His sudden bafflement caused him not to notice the sudden formation of mist, which, as he rushed forwards, passed right through him, only to linger behind his figure.

It was a gift derived from my noble blood. A gift Lord Kain himself was most adept in using, having used such in the past to pass through things that otherwise would have been impassable. Locked portcullis... bars... the tiny gap of someone's doorway...

Not every vampire can turn to mist because, as like most things, it is something that needs to be practised. It is a gift that usually manifests at a certain point of a fledgling's life, and then from that moment on, it is a gift that only grows stronger with age.

One has to clear their mind and embrace uncertainties. One has to accept that things are not always what they may seem. Turning to mist is not an easy accomplishment, nor is it safe. For but a brief moment of uncertainty whilst in mist form, can lead to disaster.

Imagine passing through an iron gate. Just as your body has lost the solidness of reality, and just as your mist form is passing through the centre of the iron bars, you suddenly come to the utmost conclusion that turning to mist is not possible. Not possible because your body is solid, and therefore you are unable to walk through such structures. Imagine that. Imagine that, and then image the pain that you feel afterwards before passing into the next realm, for the reason that, you just so happened to loose your mist form and thus end up impaling yourself. Because that is what happens if one turns to mist and has but a stray thought cross his mind, that what they are doing is impossible. That is why many of the fledglings do not try such until they are of a certain age, or under certain tutorage.

It is what I did at that moment – to clears my mind. And then to open out my arms as if to embrace the night, to wrap his cloak of darkness around myself, to allow the solidness of my body to disperse into mere particles of nothingness.

It seemed my opponent was only used to hunting the weakest of fledgling vampires than that of a Vampire Lord. For my remarkable transgression into mist sent him stumbling into a moment of perplexity. Before he could even realise what I had done, my position for attack had switched.

Now I stood behind him, a shimmering spectre, as the mist concentrated itself back into my vampiric form. With outstretched hands I caught him unaware, as with a moment of swiftness, my one arm was wrapped tightly around his throat in what would seem almost like a comradely embrace. A dark embrace.

He struggled and kicked, and twisted, all in hope of getting his weapon within range of me. But my firm grasp held him tight.

Now at a point of advantage behind my victim, I want to feed. His blood would nourish me; help heal the wounds and scars engraved by his sword in my skin, and replace some of what I had lost. I used my strength to overcome him, but this did not end the struggle.

Together, our forces combined, we staggered forwards. This opponent of mine was much stronger than I had first supposed. Normally it did not take long to dispose of a hunter.

With my free hand I grabbed a hold of his weapon-arm. I seized a hold of it so sharply that my claws tore at the skin that his bracer did not protect. For the first time in our fight, I heard him cry out.

Now with the advantage of having some sort of control over where he pointed his sword, so it was I bashed his hand into the wall that we had fallen against in our struggle. The first time nothing happened, but on the third it had the desired effect I had hoped for, and his sword fell out of his hand and clattered to the floor.

Without warning our battle altered its course. My one arm was still locked around his throat as we ineptly made way into one of the corridors that was off the room. In abruptness he twisted in my grasp, pushing me backwards.

I clung onto him, my claws digging deep once more into unprotected flesh, drawing blood, as if he alone would stop my fall.

Darkness opened out to us as in unison we toppled down stone steps.

Our fight was not at all dignified, and to be honest I was quite disappointed. With this rival, one who was almost worthy to fight a Vampire Lord, I had expected quite the dance of death. Instead I was rewarded with a slightly clumsy waltz that resulted in both us fighting in whatever way we thought was appropriate, him with a newly drawn short-sword, as we tumbled down into the darkness of the cellar below.

He must have felt quite the vengeful angel, as if in flight, soaring down into the netherworld, and the demons screaming all around him.

Air became trapped in my lungs as my back hit the stone ground of the underbelly of the building with great force. It mattered not. Breathing was not _always_ necessary. I could afford to sacrifice a little intake of air should it provide me with the upper hand whilst in the midst of battle. But the upper hand, I was soon to find, I did not need.

There upon the floor he lay. His eyes were closed upon the nightmare surrounding him, his breathing laboured. It looked as if our decent into down the stone stairs had done him more damage than me.

What thoughts crossed his mind at that moment, I can only guess. Maybe he did believe that he had fallen into the bowls of the netherworld. It certainly had felt that way from the heat of the flames above.

It was only in that moment of looking down at him, that I came to see some of the damage from our battle that he had endured.

His armour was dented and tainted with the blood of his and my own. The cuirass he had word was hanging half on and half off – one of the straps having broken. His helm had come off in the fall, thus exposing the vulnerable features of a young man who's face had been aged long before his time with the lines and creases of worry and, with no doubt, the traces of fear – though he tried to hide it in front of me.

This was not just some usual misbegotten, flea-bitten mercenary that we usually came across in such towns as this one. Instead this 'knight' seemed to be someone with more skill and power than what the usual mercenaries showed.

This was a man who had not just been set down in some dilapidated group of vampire hunter because, by chance he just so happened to be able to hold a sword correctly – and out of all those who could, he was the only one still alive. No, this was someone who would perhaps be in charge of such a group of vampire hunters. Someone who would role their eyes and utter despairing comment under his breath as they tried to teach the last miserable hope of humanity how to wield a sword, carry a battered shield at the same time, and walk. Was perhaps this 'fallen creature' a leader of some sort? I suspected so.

It became clear that not everyone agreed with Lord Kain's rule, especially the mortals. This was expected, and that is why we acted so quickly in our first moves to tame humanity. Though we never really considered the thoughts that anyone would dare rise up against us, to resist our rule. I summarised without much effort that we had obviously been foolish in our ignorance to think such thoughts.

I thought back to the other pieces of land we had claimed nights before. Instances had also occurred there where those who wielded fire had attacked us. Some of them carried weapons that we came to identify as 'flame-throwers'. I have mentioned before of how some mortals believed that fire purified certain things, certain things such as what they considered to be the 'souls of the damned' – us, vampires. It seemed that the mortals who fought with fire believed in this strongly.

In but a few sharp moments of that night, it seemed a resistance within the mortals had been shown to us. Of all the knowledge I have of resistances, from what I have gathered from books written in centuries past, is that fraction groups such as these should be quelled quickly, lest they get out of hand.

I descended upon my knees, ignoring the calamity above, and knelt next to my fallen adversary.

His eyes slowly opened, they were glazed and bloodshot. What a scene to open your eyes to, to find yourself lying injured upon your back, well aware of the blood that flows from your wounds, and one of the Vampire Lords looking down at you.

He must have known what fate awaited him, or perhaps he waited to see which path I would take. After all, there were two possible outcomes. Death. Immortality.

Did he think that I would choose him to become one of my own?

Had I the patience at that moment, than I would have turned him. I am sure one with such a cunning mind and gifted in fighting, would have made a great vampire, a wonderful Rahabim. And I would have been proud of him being a child of mine.

But the bastard had proved to be something more than just an annoyance, and consequently my tolerance with him was now wearing very thin. Conclusively he was to be no child of mine.

He went to look away from me, but with one swift movement I reached out for him, my claws gripping his chin so I could tilt his head to look at me.

I gambled upon the chance that if my theories were correct, and that such a resistance existed, than he would be a part of it.

"What of this resistance?" I asked him, leaning in close to his face. "The flag burners, wielders of flame, where is it you come from? What holes do you hide within?"

The offer of immortality can be tempting to some. I hoped that he would provide me with the answers I sought, if I pretended to offer him such.

But he glared at me, his look laced throughout with hatred and loathing. He was well aware of the 'false bribe' I was trying to concoct. Strong, even though he lay dying upon the floor.

"Plague upon Nosgoth!" He harked what blood and bile he could at the back of his throat and spat at me. "As if giving you answers would help me. I know I am to die. I do not fear death as you do."

"_You know nothing about me..." _I muttered. "We fear _nothing._"

I could smell blood upon his breath; he would not last long.

"Devourers of this world..."

"Indeed." I interrupted him, and placed a claw upon his lips so as to quell him for a while. "'Devourer of Worlds' – it is a title my master has been quite fond of for a while. Your words and insults do not harm my brethren or me."

A smile formed upon his lips, one most sinister, one that even Zephon would have been proud of displaying.

"This is true," said he, grunting. One could hear in his voice that the oncoming swiftness of death was not far from him.

"But it is fire that _does_ harm you!" With what appeared to be his last mouthful of air, he had reached out, unknown to me, for a shard of wood that had splinted from the fiery rafters and beams above us.

I realised he was to launch one final attack at me.

I realised too late.

He pushed the flaming torch towards me, as if to push it into my arms, as if he were a mother passing on an unwanted baby into the arms of a stranger. And in response I did what anyone else would have done, vampire or not. I lost control over all emotions and the way my body responded. My arms simply flayed about. With anguished I swiped the torch from the young man's hand and sent it spinning across the room.

It was a strange moment, one that felt as if I had been catapulted out of my own body in shock, and resulted in me surveying the scene from another angle entirely. I heard a voice that I did not recognise; fill the room with its piercing vocals. It sounded like a banshee's call, a dying screech. And then I discovered those screams were but my own.

There was grim satisfaction upon his dying face. It made me hate him one hundred times more. To think that for one moment I had ever considered to sire him as my own, to make him my champion.

With what can only be described as a chain reaction aided by a moment of revenge I plunged my claws forwards. They plunged deep into his chest to which they then sought home with his heart, and with but one touch it was still and he was no more.

I remember looking at his empty and crushed body upon the floor, and recalling a piece of writing I had once read from an old tome. As I knelt in the underbelly of the world – the ashes of the building – I recalled the sentences, allowing the words to fall in whispers from my parched, blooded and split lips.

"_Would you dance upon our ashes afterwards? Would you sing to our fallen cities of your moment of glory? And would they listen to you and agree that we were forsaken for a reason, that no longer are we heard, that no longer do we hear, that our decadence made us the fallen?" _

And than there was nothing but silence, and darkness, and dust, and Turel's claws, latching onto me and dragging me out of that netherworld.


	6. The Paradox within Me

**Five  
**_The Paradox within Me_

I awoke to a ceiling of stone.

It was hard to open my eyes at first. They seemed to be forged tightly together, as if someone had crept upon me and sealed my eyes whilst I had lay resting.

The darkness comforted me and soothed my mind. I lay in the dark, still and peaceful and willingly forgetting the battle that had resulted in my falling into what had felt like the pit of the underworld. I clung to the darkness, savouring each part of peace that it did bring me.

In taking a deep breath I felt the pain and the tightness of the skin upon my chest. Such was a reminder of my previous battle and the hunter's last dying assault – a baneful attack of a desperate man hoping to inflict as much pain as possible with but one single strike before life faded from him entirely. He had hoped to destroy me, and yet had obviously failed, for as I lay in the darkness I became aware that my soul was still tightly anchored to what was my body.

The night before unwittingly came back to me in a sudden rush of memories. Rest had been only a temporary release, a state in which my mind could escape the shackles of reality and head briefly into a state of concord and solace where I did not have to think but could simply just be.

I recalled the night before and the battle that had taken place. The fire, just remembering its flames scorched the membrane of my thoughts and burnt the many chasms of my mind. I had forced such thoughts to the deepest depths of my consciousness, wanting to forget, to forget the heat of the flames and how they had seared my skin and burnt my eyes.

Raziel, I had left him fighting in the room above. Now as I lay in solace I wondered to whether he had ever made it out. Alternatively I chided myself, knowing full well that I already knew of the final outcome. Raziel had always been most confident in his skills. To think that maybe the fire had destroyed him was wishful thinking on humanities behalf.

Turel was still in one piece. I knew this because it was he who had pulled me from that burning building, and then had lied me down upon the cold cobblestones of the street outside. But I wondered about the others. What of Dumah and Zephon? Where had Melchiah been, was our youngest safe?

My body had not been terribly damaged – the burn was merely a temporary set back to which I needed to give momentarily into rest so as to allow my body to repair itself fully.

Turel and I – with swollen eyes and therefore an obscured vision – had watched the flames before us. The smell of fallen embers had filled the air, ashes drifting in the wind, the sounds that turmoil can bring, and the greedy banter of flames.

Flames had billowed towards the deep velvet sky, smoke rising in swelling clumps, and there had been the detached voices of those who were still inside the building. There was nothing we could do for them.

Before us the flames of the fire had continued to rise, the building alight like a beacon burning bright in the newly established night. How brutal for the beautiful night to have his cloak of darkness tarnished like that.

The fire had engulfed the scene with its heated dominance. It had been such a blasphemous act that these mortals had come in hope of destroying us, in hope of felling Lord Kain's realm.

I had tilted my head back to the night sky and brought my hands towards my face, so as to cover my eyes. It was subsequently then, as if to add insult to injury, I had noticed a banner lying upon the floor. Of all banners it was to be one with Lord Kain's insignia upon it, lying deep in the charred remains of wood. The insignia was now a dirty grey, the fabric it had been woven upon was no longer stable – the textile weave, having been embraced by the warmth of flame, began to fall apart in my claws.

I reached out for that banner and brought it to me, holding it tight within my claws and close to my chest as if in hope that such a banner was somehow connected to my sire himself, and in so me embracing it than perhaps I could draw some of Lord Kain's strength from its tattered remains. Of course such a thing did not happen, but seeing my sire's insignia brought me a strange and distant comfort that I guarded and hoarded covetously to myself.

"Rahab?" I felt Turel's claws upon my face, as it was he titled my head to one side. I allowed him to do so, still gazing through half-closed eyes at the ember filled skies above us.

"Your eyes..." Turel's voice trailed off. There had been a tone of curiosity within his vocals – the voice of some long forgotten philosopher discovering one of the many riddles of the universe. Nonetheless, such a tone had also contained the notes of uncertainty – suggesting that the philosopher, in discovering something new was brought to the ultimate conclusion that what he may behold in an aspect of a breakthrough may also change absolutely everything, everything he had based his life upon, _everything_ – the very essence of his being becomes questionable. And he breathes, and he lives, and he becomes, but he constantly questions such.

For centuries we have subtly moved throughout Nosgoth. From the beginning we were the self-appointed gods – _careless_ gods. The mortals feared us, and yet within this element of fear we also came across a slight aspect of respect. It was a respect developed through dread and a proportion of loathing.

And yet there came a time when, from mortals there evolved to be a select number who turned against themselves and chose to worship us. As our evolution progressed to become something more, than these select few would go out and hunt for us, turning against their own kind. At times they would even choose to sacrifice themselves to our hunger. Such was their devotion, or more so, such was their foolishness. To say the very least I admit that I found the worshippers that developed a little unsettling. What kind of creatures would turn against their own kin, I cannot say. Perhaps it is debatable that I am such a creature... Judge me how you will. But enough about that, and enough about them.

Conclusively we often saw ourselves as the gods of Nosgoth, or at the very least the willing servants, the children of Kain – a much more powerful creature than any of us – despite what Dumah would like to think.

I have told you of the times that a newly born vampire can get caught and ensnared within the moment of change, and how it is they come to think themselves as indestructible. The same can be said for the elders as well. One might say that with a vampire's age a facet of arrogance may develop, and for those foolish ones – ignorance. Even we, those who are the older ones of the clans, can presume that we are truly immortal in every sense of the word.

Time ages us in the implication that our knowledge of the world increases, and we become wiser for it. Time remains to be our bitter enemy, yet it also empowers us. A paradoxical situation if there was ever one.

Throughout time our bodies evolve. In the beginning we thought that our stages of evolution would simply make us stronger. But the matter was to be something more than just 'simple'. Little did we know of the sacrifices we would unknowingly throw out to fate, and that throughout time, each time we evolved, so the less desirable we would become.

Oh yes, each bout of metamorphosis made us stronger in many aspects, and therefore with every century that passed us by it was natural for us to think that we were becoming stronger because of it. Consequently when we did find certain weaknesses – such as my own weakness to fire and light – it was met with a manner of uncertainties.

Our minds and thoughts argued with us constantly. How could we be so strong, and yet so weak?

All in all we were contradictions of life, 'living' – and I use that term lightly – Oxymoron's, paradoxes within ourselves.

It was through a gaze of pain that I looked back up at Turel. "I know," I had replied.

I did not want Turel to see me like this. I did now want him to see my newly discovered weakness. I did not want him to know that but a glance at fire had caused me so much pain. I did not want him to uncover my own paradoxical element. But I understand that we cannot always get what we want, and as I watched him gaze down upon me I came to the chilling conclusion that he was already aware of it – aware of my weakness, aware of the paradox within me.

Turel should not have come for me. He should have left me in there. I came to a cold understanding, how could I serve Lord Kain with such a weakness, yet no added strength to compensate for such? I felt ashamed.

Yet all these feelings were a secret. I did not allow them to show. Instead I hid such emotions behind a mask of philosophical thought. They regarded me as the scholar, the learned one, and that is the mask I hid behind. Instead of ever showing fear or pain, I pretended to analyse it.

It would have been a way out, to just lie there in the shadowy chasm of rest. It would not be easy – it would be painful in fact, because that it how it is when one starves oneself. But if I had wanted to, I could have remained there forever. I could, if I so wanted to, allow myself to starve, allow my body to rot away like it should have done all those years ago, to cave in upon itself before collapsing completely to dust. That is what I could have done, to allow myself to join the dust of the ages. If I wanted to I could have given up on this world. _If_ I had wanted to. But I did not want to.

True, there was a part of me going through a stage of self-doubt, a doubt that made me question myself. Deep inside I began to fear that I was not good enough to serve Lord Kain, to serve my sire. But if I were not in existence than who would see to the Rahabim? Besides, I have never been one for allowing my emotions to conquer me.

If there was anyone who I did not want to see me go through self-doubt than it was Lord Kain. He had very little patience for a useless emotion such as 'doubt', especially if it was developed from oneself. Did I wish to anger and annoy him, to make him think that he had wasted his time in pulling my soul from the hereafter, only to raise and nourish me? It was something that I did not want at all. Besides, what did self-pity ever accomplish? I was being foolish.

When I opened my eyes fully I was to notice the presence of dry blood around them. It had been this clotting blood that had sealed my eyes shut. With the back of one of my claws I gently wiped them clean, and then ran it down the side of my left cheek. It seemed that even in rest my eyes had continued to weep.

Understandably the aftermath of the fire made me feel unclean. I felt as if I wanted nothing more than to peel off some of my skin, especially the part of my chest that had been burnt. Such thoughts clouded my mind, and my eyes continued to sting.

I arose from a sarcophagus of the finest stone. Pushing the lid off slowly, I found myself feeling a little drained – no doubts from the side effects of healing.

The air of the crypt was damp and musky, an atmosphere that had been preserved this way in layers of filth for eternity. A cobweb from the ceiling wafted itself in the stale air and draped itself across my head so that it got tangled within my loose hair – truly giving me the stereotypical appearance of the undead.

Breathing at a slow and gentle pace I took in my surroundings. My need for healing had made someone bring me to what appeared to be a sepulchre, a mausoleum – and a grand one at that. The coffin I had been lain within was one of the utmost eminence. It was a heavy grey stone structure engraved with the images of what mortals throughout history have regarded as 'Seraphim' – divine, immortal, humanoid creatures adorned with feathery wings.

I stood silent and still within the sarcophagus base, looking around at the other areas of the crypt. Indeed, it _was_ quite the place of grandeur.

As I went to step out of my coffin, so it was I pushed back the lid even further and took note of how much easier I found doing such. My strength was returning to me fully, at last. Well, that was something.

The walls and ceiling of the crypt were covered with the dust and cobwebs of time. I bent down and ran a hand over the discarded lid. There were engraved images here too, but this one depicted a long forgotten landscape of rolling hills and dominant mountains and a tiny village residing at such.

The lid itself was very heavy. It would have perhaps taken three strong mortal men to push it and secure it into place. Designed to be heavy, such lids were developed in hoping to stop what mortals named 'Thieves of the Grave' entrance to the coffin. It amuses me to think upon what reaction any thief would have given if they had hoped to plunder a tomb my brethren or I lay within at the time.

'Rest Eternal' the writing on the sarcophagus lid said, written in some archaic lettering of an old language. The writing went on to speak of someone from a certain town, but I never did discover who the person had been or where they had been from as the engraving of the names had long ago worn away. Regardless, from looking at the grandeur of where they had been laid to rest, I suspected that they had been someone of noble blood.

The exit could not be far, I concluded, and then nearly tripped over something upon the floor.

At my feet, upon the floor, lay some dishevelled form of a mortal, completely unconscious and evidently left there by whoever had brought me to rest in this tomb. It was a thoughtful gesture that they should think that I would like to feed upon rising.

I cannot tell you whether the mortal was male or female, because, to be honest I did not pay much attention, but instead put all my thoughts upon replacing the blood that I had lost.

"It is good to see that you are finally awake. The Rahabim have been asking for you."

There was a voice from somewhere behind me. I looked up from my meal and wiped the remaining blood from my lips.

Turel stood within the doorway of the crypt. So intent upon feeding, I had no longer paid attention to my surroundings and therefore had not heard the heavy stone door pushed open.

"I thought that I would allow you to heal and have a proper feed before allowing them admittance." He eyed the mortal I clung to. A glimmer of hunger shone deep within his eyes at seeing some of the blood I had carelessly spilt in a moment of greed, yet it was gone as soon as it appeared and he managed to take a hold of his lust and compose himself very well.

"I thank you for your consideration," I said, ignoring the trickle of blood that dripped down from the corner of my mouth. Drinking blood was not always a dignified moment.

As I continued to drink Turel studied me in one of his passive gazes – one that makes you wonder about what it is he is thinking, as you can never be certain.

The blood continued to fill me. I savoured each and every mouthful that I did take, allowing it to warm me and revitalise the dead cells of my body. Blood made me feel alive; it brought electrifying warmth to my body that echoed down my spine and sought out every capillary, filling them with life and nourishing me. It was ecstasy in its purest forms.

'_This is our curse,' _I had once read from an old scroll, _'to be cold to this world, to have to harvest the mortals of our land so that we are able to live. We hunger for them, those who once we had took beneath our wings – to teach and protect. Now we drink from them. Yet there are those who refuse to, those who can no longer stand the silence that our curse has brought us. They end their own lives with bloody tears and without hesitation.'_ Our nobility had come at a price throughout the ages.

It was strange that we were so dependant upon those we despised and those who in return loathed us. And yet, from the words of ancient tomes, history suggested that once our two races had lingered together in unison. That alliance, of course, was no more.

Turel approached me when I had finished feeding and did the same thing he had the night before – to take a hold of my face and tilt my head to one side. I glared at him, but he ignored me, and perhaps for my own sake I should be grateful that he did. He brought his other hand to my face and pushed back the skin near to my eyes as if to examine them.

I felt unnerved at being under such a scrutinizing gaze, uncomfortable with Turel being so near and gazing straight into my pupils.

"They seem to have healed for now." There was not one ounce or any trace of concern in his voice. At that moment, when he examined me to see if I was alright, it was as if he was not doing it out of concern for my health, but instead making sure that one of Lord Kain's warrior's was stable enough to fight, lest they put the remainder of the clans in trouble.

Turel was cold and aloof, but I respected him deeply. Out of all of us he seemed to be the one who liked to be on his own. He liked to be in the company of his brethren – should we be near, yet on the other hand should he find himself alone than he was content to be that way. Alone, with someone – he did not care either way.

"And are you fit enough to travel?"

"I am not some weak child, Turel."

"I never said that you were." There was the hint of a warning within his voice.

Turel was much taller than I, a looming presence that towered over me. Often he surveyed the world through a gaze of polite interest, or when in a more darker mood – a critical glance that could chill you to your very core. He was very much the dominant, silent type, one who could dominate a room without ever having to speak. With but one look he has been known to quieten a hall full of the most delinquent of fledglings.

"It is a precaution we have to take. If we were to be attacked within our journey home I am wondering whether the Rahabim Lord would still be with us come the end."

This time, having taken notice of the hint of warning within Turel's voice from before, I made no attempt to reply. I wondered if after last night's charade Turel was now beginning to doubt my abilities in serving Lord Kain. Did he think me weak?

"Turel – the night before –" I clenched my teeth and looked down at the floor. "I should not have been so weak."

"We all have our weaknesses." The lieutenant side to him faded to some extent. His gaze softened slightly and when he looked at me this time I hoped that he saw me as his brother, and not just some other vampiric warrior.

"Indeed. Regardless – I thank you for your aid and assistance."

A small smile parted Turel's lips, whilst with his claws he absentmindedly tapped the hilt of his sword – as if debating some important issue within the depths of his mind, and then he nodded. Once more his face became expressionless, and again he was distant – simply one of Lord Kain's lieutenants, as was I.

Seemly satisfied with my condition, Turel turned and left, the looming frame of his body dispersing into the darkness.

I watched the outline of his figure leave and relaxed slightly. My hand had rested upon the area where my scabbard usually hung; unfortunately it had been lost in the fire and I had had no reassuring hilt to rest my claws upon.

As I have said, I respected Turel, but also, deep down, I feared him.

)-(

I found Zephon sitting not far from the mausoleum. His back was turned away from me, his gaze fixed upon the town below – the mausoleum having been built upon a slight hill that over looked the town.

The Zephonim Lord was sitting upon someone's gravestone, his legs folded beneath him, his hands casually placed upon his knees.

He was our Subtle Prince – Prince of Chaos and Disorder, and Lust and Greed. To the mortals he was the Prince of Temptation, and the Prince of their Nightmares.

He was the most complex creature I had ever met. His emotions ranged from anything to cold resentment, passionate turmoil, or even a quiet aloofness – which would make you think that he was partly like Turel. Often times he was sly, conniving, and highly manipulative. Zephon thrived in chaos, mischief and disorder, and delighted in it all – especially if had been the one to create it.

But I have said that Zephon was a highly complex creature, and that is quite true. You see, Zephon was not just all those things – chaos, turmoil – he was _everything._ Sure enough I have seen him celebrate the downfall of others, but I have also seen a gentle side to him – though such was a rare thing to see indeed.

It was now, as he sat upon the gravestone, that I regarded him. He was in one of his thoughtful moods – a highly dangerous mood for anyone of mortal blood for him to be within. I always wondered what he was plotting in that dark and twisted mind of his when he was like this, for he had a mood that often suggested he would like nothing more than to attempt to complete domination of Nosgoth. Unfortunately for him that was never possible. Perhaps that was why he was always so bitter.

The graveyard Zephon sat within was one most typical – a piece of land scattered with tombstones of all shapes and sizes, some new, others old – broken and decayed – they stood as monuments to those who had long passed before us. Ivy creepers also made its home here, adding to the atmosphere of lamentation, choosing to creep upon and entwine itself around the oldest of memorials, interweaving itself deep so as to hold together the crumbling stone with its twisting roots.

There was a stone statue near to where Zephon was sitting, its empty gaze forever locked upon him in what almost seemed like a disapproving glare. It appeared that he had ignored it in the beginning; nevertheless, as I approached he was swift to get to his feet.

Standing, Zephon reached out for the statue. The nightly breeze catching strands of his dark hair gave him a wild and untamed look. I knew what he was trying to do. With an outstretched hand he was attempting to pull the statue towards him, using whatever telekinetic force he possessed. It cannot have been much, and I think in honesty he was trying to move something that was much too big for him, and should have started with something a little smaller.

I questioned this sudden try of displaying power. I have no doubts that he had somehow seen me approach, despite the fact that his back was turned to me. Was he trying to prove something? Perhaps he was trying to show that he was stronger than me, after all he did not seem to have been injured in the fire the night before. Maybe I was being paranoid.

Zephon pushed back the wild strands of hair with his left hand – his right still outstretched. He snorted and then flicked his right hand. Such a gesture sent the statue tumbling forwards. The statue listed on its base, bowed slightly as if it were a mortal performer descending from its stage and taking one last bow to the audience. Then, after a slight pause it fell to the ground.

"Very good," I said, announcing my presence behind him.

His gesture did not have the desired effect that perhaps he had hoped for, for though the statue lost an arm, it did not shatter. Nonetheless, this did not seem to matter. Zephon looked quite unfazed and yet quite content with the fact that at least now the statue was no longer giving him a stone clad, critical glare.

"Rahab," Zephon said, his hand still outstretched. His voice was filled with a false delight as he treated me to one of his mock bows and an impish smile. He was still standing upon that tombstone. The moonlight filtering behind his figure gave him quite a stunning look. To anyone passing, such a scene made him look quite the ethereal figure. He was wild and untamed and deadly. Standing where he did made him look like the Lord of the Graveyard – Death's princeling.

"It is such a privilege for you to join me." The sarcasm radiated from him. "Come brother, pick a gravestone and sit with me. Together, let us sing a lament for _these_ mortal fools." His lips were painted with a dangerous smirk.

I was in no particular mood for his snide remarks and so indulged him with a smirk of my own; making sure that at the same time I allowed my canines to show – a warning to him.

I looked to the horizon and the town before us, taking particular interest in the smouldering carcass of the building that had been alight the night before. Simply, we had left the fire to burn itself out. Well, there was not a lot we could no to stop it.

"What damage?"

Zephon turned unexpectedly towards me – his expression as passive and as cold as ever. It was almost like the night before had never even happened, and that from the fire we had lost nothing. To him he was still in existence so nothing else mattered.

He snorted in distaste for the subject I was proposing that we talk about.

"What does it matter?" With arms folded across his chest he eyed me with a glacial look.

'What did it matter', he had asked me. Surely it mattered something? I knew that some of those who had been caught within that fire had been Zephonim. Did he try to make it seem that such had no affect upon him? Maybe he really _was_ that cold and so far away from anyone else.

I tried to see past this façade. I tried to see Zephon in another light – that perhaps he was, like me, hiding behind a mask. That in truth things like loosing his own children _did_ affect him.

Yes, I _tried_ to see past this façade, but often failed because at times Zephon was simply careless.

Part of me suspected that Zephon's annoyance towards Melchiah was because, out of all of us, it was Melchiah who could see past the masquerade that Zephon preformed in front of us. I suspected that maybe – _just maybe –_ his emotions could be just as vulnerable as the rest of us – though we all tried desperately to hide such. That these emotions could tear and shred his skin, causing him wounds and inflictions that he could never understand because he distanced himself so far from feelings.

Irrefutably, Zephon was not just devoid of life; he was also dead to emotion.

Zephon's clan was only just above Melchiah's, and so, not one of the strongest. With the factor of not being one of the strongest, only an emotion of coldness could be derived from one such as Zephon. He wanted his children to be strong, to be gifted as the children of the other clans. Regrettably, what he did not see was a clan before him that was gifted in many ways other than strength.

Thusly, in wrapping himself in coldness, I suspected Zephon knew he could avoid disappointment. Zephon taught himself not to expect much from his brood. Though through this feeling it only pulled him away from them, when they so desired to get close to their master.

The conclusion was inevitable. Through his remoteness he acted like it did not bother him. A mask, a cape of iciness that he drew close around him – such eroded Zephon. In the end he only lost patience with those who had what he could never possess – those of his brothers who had fine children, Melchiah who was the weakest of us all and yet had patience, and mortals – mortals who could feel love, warmth, life, and live only how he could wish to.

The children he had lost, and those he was always loosening, so he mourned for them secretly.

The silence that fell between us was deafening and uncomfortable. For moments Zephon reverted his gaze back towards the town ahead, eyeing it as if it was some growth upon the landscape.

"See not the damage they do?" Zephon gestured towards the landscape before us and sneered. "We must control the cattle. See not the delusional ideas they develop if we do not our eyes upon them? They call themselves _hunters._ They dare to think that they could possibly destroy us." There was the distinct note of mockery within his voice.

Zephon's thought upon the daringness of humanity in hoping to hunt us seems ironic now that I know what I do. How ignorant he was of his history – how ignorant we all were – of the life he had lived long before Lord Kain had ever breathed life back into that abandoned and soulless corpse of his.

"Vampire hunters have walked Nosgoth for many ages. They are nothing new. The fire of last night is simply the development of a newer group of mortals who feel bequeathed upon the idea of taking up their predecessors mantle. They are nothing."

"So much rational thinking, Rahab..." He eyed me with a deadly curiosity. "Tell me, what would you do if you found this new resistance?"

"I would deal and bestow silence upon them."

"Yet you could not even do that to one mortal. The girl who burnt your flag – was letting her live a favourable thing to do?"

"I need more servants," I said. I should have known that it was the perfect chance for Zephon to mock me. This conversation – spawned from a simple question of what damage had been created from the night before – evolved to become a moment for Zephon to take his chances in criticising me.

"I need to replenish the stock I am loosing."

"Oh?" He raised one eyebrow. "Or is it that you require more lovers?" With a snort of contempt he brushed past me, pushing back tendrils of his hair with a flourish of his claws.

"Perhaps the next time you burn yourself her blood can nourish you."

Something within me snapped. And yet I held myself back. I _wanted_ to hurt him for saying such words to me, but all I could do was stare at his departing figure with such a look of contempt.

I held myself back. I was not like the others – for one I did not plunge myself into battle, my blade drawn without hesitation. No, that was not my style. Instead I waited, and watched, and thought, allowing the perfect chance to inflict revenge to come to me.

Maybe I held myself back from striking Zephon down because he was my brother – on the other hand, maybe not. All I know is that I never stuck him for such a comment. Perhaps I should have done.

I would have launched myself at him, hissing, and my claws close to his throat. 'Be still thy tongue before I cleave it from your misbegotten mouth!' That is what I would have said if I had been Dumah, or Turel, or Raziel. But I was not any of them – I was Rahab. That is probably why Zephon wound me up the way he did, because I would never be one to react as the others did, never be one to strike out at such snide comments. Zephon knew this. But that was to change.

My stance crumbled. Sitting, I propped myself up against another statue – its seraphic face emotionless as it gazed down at the sword carved between its hand. Wisely, this statue had chosen not to stare at the Zephonim Lord.

I could not forget about the fire, about the damage that had been wrought, and my weakness that had suddenly been displayed for everyone to see. Zephon's words to me were a simple reminder of my weakness. And such words haunted me.

That fire, the massacre of some of our own had been their statement – whoever 'they' were. They had left behind their own marking, their own banner – the mortals own insignia – an insignia to challenge our own. It was pathetic and absurd. Who would challenge Lord Kain? Though one could not help but admire them, admire their stupidity at least.

Fortunately the Rahabim had not suffered due to such an incident. The building had been the one to have more damage wrecked upon it than that of the clans. Yet the handful of children we had lost was still enough to raise our anger. How dare they even strive to do such a thing to us, to Lord Kain. How dare such a tiny wisp of a thought of opposing us cross their insignificant minds.

I sat at the feet of the seraph and brought my claws to my eyes as I remembered the brightness of the flames and the way it had affected me. I had never experienced anything like that before – like I could not even stand to look at light.

This statue dwarfed me, and for the first time in a long while I felt small and insignificant. Such was a feeling that I had not had since I was a vampire child thrown at the feet of a merciless world.

I looked back towards the mausoleum. There were two burning torches either side of the doorway, anchored to the wall. As I looked at the flames now, I discovered they did not harm me, and I felt no pain.

At the feet of the seraph and before the rolling and dying land of Nosgoth, I dared to hope that what I had experienced was little more than a unique experience. I hoped that it was something that had happened and could not be explained. But it did not matter, for I would not go looking for the answers, and such would never bother be again.

I was wrong.

They say that the questions we do not seek, we do not look for, or ask about, have the answers we fear to hear.

They are right.

Little did I know that eventually I would fall sway to such an existence – living within the darkest dark and clutching to the shadows, unable to stand the light.

Showing signs of sensitivity to light was but the first whisper of change, though it was not yet to develop fully. Even more so, I was not to be the one to evolve first. That privilege was to go to someone much more important.

_Alas..._

"Rahab?"

I stuck a hand out from behind the stone seraph and flexed my talons unenthusiastically so as to indicate where I was sitting, as the statue had hid me away.

"Zephon said you were here."

"Oh? And what other poison did he spill from that misbegotten mouth of his?"

Melchiah was taken aback by my acidic tone and gazed at me with caution. He became undecided, should he continue to speak, or was I best left alone to my own devices? Still, a message from Raziel was obviously one that Melchiah knew must not at any circumstances go undelivered. To defy Lord Raziel was to defy Lord Kain.

"Raziel sent me. I am to tell you that we are still to return to Lord Kain."

I nodded. The world could fall apart and we would still be loyal and faithful lieutenants delivering out Lord Kain's every order. That is how dedicated we were to our sire. It seemed that even a rebellious moment such as the night before would see us continuing our duties as if nothing had happened. We were steadfast, defiant and strong. What could possibly stop us?

"And what about here," I asked. "The fire and those who caused it, do you think that they will rest knowing that their task has failed and still lies unaccomplished?"

"Turel is remaining behind, he and Raziel have already discussed such," he said. "Fear not, the Turelim will find out who is behind this."

"Of that I am quite sure." There was bitterness within my voice. I had tried to hide it but it had reverberated upon my vocals before I could even stop it from slipping out. Nevertheless, Melchiah did not seem to notice, and if he did than he said nothing about it.

Why the bitterness? I was not sure if I wanted the Turelim to be involved. There was apart of me that saw this as _my_ task. I thought that if _I_ could find such mortals and deal with them than I could redeem my weakness and myself – that I could prove myself worthy and everyone would forget about my downfall the night before.

Furthermore, I _wanted_ to please Lord Kain. If I could quell such a resistance than my lord would be very pleased. It is but a natural instinct to want to please one's master.

I was ambitious, but my ambition was one most silent. I strived to make myself a worthy member of Lord Kain's court and clan, I fought to keep up with my older brethren – training with my favoured weapons, fortifying my knowledge by reading ancient tomes – but all was done without much show. I learnt and trained but did so without voicing my aspiration of wanting to feel purposeful.

Once I had challenged and fought Dumah in front of Lord Kain so as to gain his attention and hopefully his praise. But all was done without the fanfare. I appeared calm, collective and always thinking – and such was my mask.

Melchiah's voice had lapsed into silence moments ago, but I had not noticed. Instead I sat leaning forwards on my knees, thoughts passing through my mind.

When I once again took notice of my surroundings it was then that I noticed Melchiah's silence.

When I saw Melchiah's face I knew that he was thinking along the same path as me. I could tell through his gaze that Melchiah half-wished that it were he who was stopping behind instead of Turel. But than, he was never given that chance.

Little brother, how it was you always wanted to prove something to our master – Lord Kain. How you wanted him to know that you too were gifted like his firstborn.

"_Fear not Melchiah, your time will come,"_ I whispered to him, standing up and lying a hand on his shoulder.

It was then that Melchiah took an intake of air, as if he was slightly nervous to ask what he was about to.

"You faltered last night, Rahab, was something amiss?"

"You saw me fall?"

"I saw Turel bring you out of that building. Your eyes –"

"It was nothing –" I lied. "Just a sudden moment if weakness, but it is gone now."

I concluded my words. 'But it is gone now', that had not sounded like my voice. Where was the calm, thinking and reserved vampire that I had been before that night, before that fire? The vampire who had spoken such words sounded uncertain, worried, and anxious that the weakness would return.

What was this – was I suddenly becoming so fragile? Even Melchiah could withstand a small amount of light, and yet I had shied away from such when even he had faced it.

How fit would Lord Kain see me if I were suddenly having a problem with light sensitivity. Was I fit enough to command one of his clans?

For a brief moment I was tormented with those forbidding thoughts. The incident shredded my mind. A weakness can be overpowering. My claws I clenched tightly together tightly, yet with care I put the matter aside.

I had only suffered this weakness once, maybe, and with hope, it would not happen again. Truly, I had spent the majority of time within the shadows and it was no surprise than that the sudden brightness had effected me so.

In the town below I began to notice a handful of my children, all awaiting my next orders. Now was the time to fortify myself, to pull my mind together, to make it strong and dispel of all thoughts and fears that I was growing weak.

I turned around to face Melchiah, giving him a look of approval. "You fought well within this, Melchiah. You organise and direct the Melchiahim effectively." I referred to the fight we had endured in taking over the land. I wanted to show Melchiah that at least he had the admiration of but one of us.

"Rahab..." he said, a little unsure. But I would not allow him to disagree. How could one hope to improve and grow stronger if they did not at least receive some appraisal, especially when one such as Melchiah received so little of it?

I gestured and motioned Melchiah forwards, directing him to the town below. Now was the time to finalise orders, organise the clans and then return home. Home – it had been but a few months and already my soul yearned for such, as did my children.

My thoughts were ironclad and firm. I would seek out this resistance and redeem myself. I would find them and quell them. But where they lingered we did not know. Raziel had asked me about the abbey and that ignited something within my mind. We had both agreed that such a place close to water would be ideal for humans to inhabit.

I suspected that the abbey was the key – and such became my obsession.


	7. The One who wanted Turel

**Six  
**_The One who wanted Turel_

"_We are the hunters, of that much it is true.  
__But can we ourselves become the hunted?"_

_**- As written in blood upon the walls of the Razielim abode –**_

The area was desolate. Where once there had been movement, where once there had been an iridescent of activity – now there was none. And Silence gathered together her companions – her lovers – and together they danced a tribute to a fallen civilization.

We crept along empty courtyards, under the shadows of towering stonewalls. We made not a sound – Zephon the one whose very art was but the craft of moving stealthy and subtly, caressed the shadows with his gentle touch.

My other brothers were close, and together we were taking in the pleasure of hunting. Our eyes were ignited with the pulse and race of the excitement that was rioting within us. It was an electrifying feeling ran through our veins – that essence of power once more. Together we hunted the last one.

Gripped within my claws was a valued weapon, one that I favoured highly for that moment – a halberd.

But I paid not a lot of attention to the moments now, for it seemed not only was I thinking upon this situation, but also another.

My mind became divided by living out two moments that were parallel to each other – this one, and another that was hinted with the past. It was another situation, another location, and once more I was with my brothers, and once more we were hunting something. This something disturbed my dreams, as did the location – a ghostly image of a village at the foot of mountains.

_And they told me to wait outside the demon's quarters so as to cut off access for anyone who would dare try to disturb this holy moment of purification._

We hunted something that was the last of its kind, garbed in the armour of our rank – our insignias displayed proudly. Together – my 'saintly' brothers and I – we crossed a landscape of snow and ice. It was a landscape that would haunt my mind and stay imprinted upon it forevermore.

The thrill of the excitement remained undivided – we all felt it – the bittersweet taste of fear, the remains of anguish.

A grim smile was mine as we crossed the threshold of one building. Zephon was with me as the others were going to enter via another way, thus blocking all exits and crushing any chances of escape.

My pulse ran riot within my body, a delightful swell of blood rush and exhilaration. Anticipation mixed with a variety of emotions, from excitement to the advancing feeling of all that is predatorily. We were balanced, upon the very edge – as it is a wolf of the wild hunts its prey, and then pounces forwards, going for the throat, bringing down its victim with an embrace that opens out to death.

My gaze fixed itself upon the scenery. The building lay raped of everything it once was – furniture swept aside, some taken. That what remained was either broken or lay uselessly to one side. In the background there was a faint drip of water, it was enough to provoke the silence into madness within one's mind. But we were too preoccupied to take much notice.

I stepped over a disregarded body. Their eyes were wide, their mouth open in some suppressed last word. It was at that moment that I felt myself pause and kneel next to them. My claws went towards their eyes where it was I gently closed them shut.

"_Loyal warrior... Knight to your lord..."_

Their drape lay close next to them, and I reached out to touch it. It was rough within my claws, an unfamiliar touch in a way, yet the insignia was so familiar. Now this grand cloth was tarnished in the blood of its once wearer – the colour of red highlighted by the drops of crimson. It was an artist's dream, this riot of passion and colour.

Why did I feel nothing? Why throughout this scene of carnage did I have not one emotion left within me? _Nothing... empty... _I felt like a void with but the words of 'do not question it' running throughout my mind.

I was not to question this?

_I never question my lord..._

"_Come out whelp," _Zephon hissed.

I ignored the moment before and stood, re-gripping the halberd within my claws for extra reassurance. I could feel my own canines, my tongue running along their surface for extra reassurance.

"_I know that you are here, I can feel your fear," _the Zephonim Lord went on to say, taking pleasure in provoking the one we hunted.

Then it happened. In the slowest of motions a brief scuffle broke out. From out of its hiding place it came, darting forwards, its own weapon drawn.

I turned quickly, raising my weapon in a movement of defence, whilst Zephon suffered no grasps of hesitation and instead lunged forwards. The blade of his sword pushed forwards in a direction of expecting to meet flesh and cut through it deeply.

This fight lasted but moments – a gritting of teeth and then a sudden cry of pain. In turning I brought the halberd close to me, flicking back strands of my hair that caught my eyes and watching the creature before us – Zephon smug.

It gripped its arm – blood escaping – its vain effort in halting the blood flow, crimson beginning to seep through its claws.

The creature was decrepit, dilapidated, exhausted. It was male – so I noticed, as Dumah and Turel appeared, suddenly walking out of the shadows as if it was they were as much a part of the darkness as the shade. Within Turel's grasp was another, a youngling, their body limply cast over Turel's shoulder.

And this male before us stood fierce though wounded. His face was shadowed and grey; there was a look within his eyes that suggested a deep anguish – a haunting, lost expression. I knew that he had mourned his loss for many nights.

I had heard their cries at night, brought longingly on the zephyr as if to torment us. Shrill cries, whimpers, and every now and then a note-less cry would pierce the night air. My clan had been tensed in hearing such a noise.

They were leaderless and inconsolable. This civilisation was now nothing more than mere ghosts – wraiths almost – with but nothing in mind but to mourn their loss. They had lost all interest in 'life', and they had forsaken everything.

Their laments had continued. It continues now, even though this one was the last and no more will ever be found within Nosgoth – not in this time. Their lament has always existed, even when they no longer did.

_I hear it now..._

_Their voices upon the wind..._

_They call to him..._

_They call to him, even now..._

And in front of us remained this one. He was surrounded by us all – no escape, all exits blocked. A flicker within our eyes in the enclosing darkness that drew in around us almost suffocating any elements it could get its spidery fingers upon.

Finally we had found our prey, and now we began to enclose in upon it. A deathly embrace.

He was a vampire – one of the Razielim... One of the last...

And that is when I awoke.

I felt the claws of another resting lightly upon my shoulder, and my eyes shot open.

A disorientated manner descended upon me. As the restful state passed I struggled to regain my posture, pulling myself up from what was now, after awakening, a rather uncomfortable, slouched position of sitting.

I attempted to readjust my mind to the surroundings I had awoken, but my senses were disorientated and my mind dominated fully by that look of dread and loss that I had seen upon the Razielim's face.

A deathly horror encased my mind and drowned my senses.

"My God, what have we done?"

If it had been nothing more than a dream, then at the time I did not know it, and as I awoke I half-expected to find myself covered in blood.

To this very night I cannot tell you of what it was I saw. Perhaps it was just some metaphorical dream created in the depths of a mind that was approaching change and suffering from tension and stress that only a lordship can bring. Maybe it was but the stray wisp of a broken and fractured timeline that had strayed into my head whilst in rest. Who can say?

But I am no 'seer' and at that time such a vision was to mean nothing to me – only a dawning horror I received, having thought that I had hunted Raziel's clan into extinction with no apparent reason or explanation. This fear was to subside when the Rahabim who had awoken me assured me that the Razielim clan were still intact.

The 'vision' indicated not the fate of Raziel, only that it seemed the brethren had hunted his clan, and I had _known_ that we hunted the last of them. Just like before.

I pushed such aside as a dream created in that of a fragmented mind, heedless that it was to hold some similarity to the future. To say the very least I forgot about it and was not to think upon it again until the aftermath of Raziel's fall.

"My lord? Lord Turel requested you receive these." The Rahabim placed in front of me two scrolled maps. I nodded and dismissed her, taking a hold of the maps and discarding them harshly with the others that were lying at the other end of the table, whilst trying to sooth the dull ache in my back.

I recalled the night before having been spent studying the vast landscape of Nosgoth, looking particularly upon the land that Raziel had asked about. The table was covered in oddments of parchment, rolled up maps, and maps unrolled.

Each map was different from the next, whether because they showed the land in a different era of time, or because simply a different artist had crafted it.

The older the maps were the more tattered they looked, though a majority of old maps had been destroyed in the past wars. Those that remained were poor casualties, normally with tattered edges, burn marks, candle wax and an odd variety of other substances scaring their surfaces – including the finest wine which proved to be a map from a house that had once belonged to those of noble blood.

The old maps that did remain I kept close to me, like some precious treasure. Each one of them told stories of the old times, if one was willing to listen.

Another small pile close by was one of disregarded maps. They were charts that had accidentally fell within the pile I had sorted from the others, though I am not sure how these maps managed to get in with the rest. At that moment in time they proved to be of little use to me, though kept through the need of one night might requiring them, and also due to a personal sentimental feel.

One such map was labelled with the city name of Meridian. I smirked placing the parchment to one side. Meridian had once been Nosgoth's capital, yet the city itself no longer existed – Lord Kain had made sure of that.

This map of Meridian was now useless, the one corner slightly damaged by fire, as if it were that someone had tried to set it alight. Though the map was now a pointless piece to have, I kept it for just the point of it being an artefact, a piece of long forgotten history.

I was swift to return to the map I had fallen into rest upon. It was a more up-to-date map with boarders drawn upon the landscape to indicate where it was Lord Kain's empire started and then finished. The empire was vast. It was our duty – as Lord Kain's children – to keep it in order; ruling small parts of land to our own accord, and splitting newly gathered land between us.

Sitting down, I looked once more at that piece of land that Raziel had pointed out, running my claw gently along the landscape. That piece of land more than anything took my interest immediately. Probably due to the fact that it was close to water, and because so far that part of land remained briefly hidden to us. It was that part of land that was one of the few remaining areas that was currently not under Lord Kain's rule.

Was it possible that within that portion of land mortals hid? It was questionable, yet possible due to it having an advantage available to them of being so close to the water's edge.

The maps received from Turel were two that I had leant him a while back. Perhaps they alone would offer my soul the enlightenment I so desired.

I leant forwards and over the table, knocking my chair back as I reached out to seize one of the rolled up charts. As I did so I caught the edge of my chalice.

The chalice toppled over, clanking noisily upon the wooden surface of the table, whist my crimson beverage continued to seep out like it had just been brought forth from a freshly cut wound.

To my annoyance so the blood ended upon part of the map I had been studying. Red blotches upon the landscape, quite possibly a fitting tribute to a land of such bloodshed. And I would have admired the trail of art that the blood left to behold, had I been in a better mood. But this was no time for such admiration. I was restless and still trying to figure out parts of the lands that lay in question.

As if it could not get any worse – as I licked the remnants of blood from my claws, I realised that much to my distaste it was far from fresh. Having had the chalice filled the night before, and then falling within rest at the table, how could I expect it to be?

Into my chair I allowed myself to drop, with an air of slight restlessness that radiated from me. I felt the restlessness tug deeply at me within, timelessly pulling apart my rationality so that I found it hard to concentrate.

I felt unkempt, my hair tangled in the midst of disarray. I felt like some mangled fledgling in the moment of the awakening. And like some impatient fledgling I glared at the chalice in front of me with bane, willing it – and at the same time – daring it to topple off the table and onto the floor.

The chalice rolled lazily from side to side, in what seemed like an attempt to defy my bidding. My mind was focussed upon it, but it was biding its time in the action I had requested it to do. Then, suddenly, with an abrupt kick of power – and more so the forceful persuasion of mind – it shot off the table and clanged to the floor, making the servant who was just walking into the room, suddenly jump back a couple of paces.

In glancing in the direction of the servant I gathered my demeanour once more, forcing the discipline of calm upon my body and mind. This restlessness would not do, and I berated myself over my sudden lack of impatience.

The female servant entered, glancing at the scene, although not questioning it. She gathered together her garb and knelt to pick up the chalice. As she did so I noticed that upon the side of her face was a deep scar – the scar I had inflicted.

Ah, so this is what had become of her – the young woman I had snatched from Zephon's bloodlust. I confess I did not really take much notice of what happened to my 'staff', for that was left to the one who organised them and my clan holding.

Perchance, this moment was woven together for such an odd occasion. Was it fate that had bid her to be one of my servants, one whom kept my quarters from disarray? It was quite easy to fancy that idea, and whimsically in my mind I tempted fate, wondering what exactly it had in store for her. Her path had having already been partly woven. For now she had survived Zephon's bloodlust, but just what else was in store for her?

She bent down next to my chair in an effort to clean up the spillage, some of the blood having dripped onto the floor, one hand grasping at the chalice. I leant forwards in my seat and without warning and without a reason brushed away strands of her hair.

I allowed my claws to play upon her soft skin for a moment, cruelly acknowledging the crimson element that flowed beneath her skin. One of my claws gently ran down the scar that had been left from our former meeting.

I paused and commented, "So this is where fate has brought you," my vision of sight focussing upon her eyes.

Some of my servants, every now and then, I had lost to Dumah. They were normally lost on a sudden whim of his, and to say at the very least I was never best pleased. In response he had said that he had not known that they had belonged to me, though I knew better. In hope of putting a stop to this we decided to devise something that would show clearly that they were serving the Rahabim.

At one point we had even gone as far as tattooing some of the servants. That proved to be more hassle than it was worth. Since then I had made my servants walk around with my insignia clearly visible upon their clothing. That way it was clear that they served under the Rahabim and that the other clans were not to touch them without my say.

Concluding this, in return for Dumah taking a few of my servants so I took some of his, and favoured them highly – thus making them into my own. 'An eye for an eye', as they say.

Existence within the clans was never easy. We disputed amongst ourselves, though Raziel tried to bay peace whenever possible. Nonetheless, even _he_ was known to take sides.

Clan skirmishes were regular. It was best to bring peace amongst fledgling fights, though I admit there were times when we encouraged it.

Fighting amongst our children _did_ have its good points. It was a way for our fledglings to train themselves, to become stronger, to learn survival instincts – especially at fledgling stage when they might need to use such against some vampire hunters. From time to time it proved to be 'light entertainment', especially within the months that we resided within our own walls and ventured out very little.

As the 'taming of the humans' began to take effect so battles with mortal kind grew scarce, and small disputes amongst the clans became more common.

At first she refused to look at me. Then when she did her eyes darted onto me quickly – and they flickered and observed me, attempting to figure out what I intended to do next. In quickness she went to withdraw, moving to stand once more. I followed her motion by rising with her, my claw still running along the mark upon her face.

With suddenness she thrust the chalice into my other set of claws.

She took a step back, only to roll up the sleeves on her garb so as to expose one of her wrists. Then, she held it out to me.

It is but a vampire's instinct to want to suddenly rush forwards at such an offer. The exact equalisation of impulse drove forwards by pure desire. Automatically my throat quelled with the prospect of what could be mine.

She offered it so freely to me – some of her blood in replacement for some of the amount I had spilt. It brought me to the conclusion that she was either not in the right frame of mind, or extremely foolish. More so, what did she want from me?

Mortals rarely offered anything for free. More so they never usually offered their blood so unreservedly.

Occasionally you came across one of those who stray from the grasps of human society, who would willingly offer their blood to you. These were separated into two groups, those who were defying humanity and wished to embrace death, and those who offered it to you at a price.

The price was unquestionable, what was it that a majority of mortals desired – _immortality._ In exchange for their blood they asked one thing of you, that you would give them the dark gift.

Is this what she wanted?

"There is no need," I stated firmly, pushing her wrist roughly away from me, and placing the chalice back on the table. All of this was done whilst a battle raged within me, bloodlust tugging upon the manacles I had chained it within. She had no idea how much she tormented me. Meanwhile I reached for one of the maps that Turel had returned and began to unroll it, certain that it was probably time I went back to working upon the geography of Nosgoth.

Something fell from the map as I opened it out. A fragment of parchment ripped from a larger piece, drifted before landing in part of the spilt blood. The female servant hesitated for a second, and then stepped forwards to pass it to me.

"_Thank you," _I muttered, glancing at the handwriting and noticing whom it belonged to straight away.

Scribbled upon some parchment was a brief collection of words reading: _'Why not rest? Seek me brother – Turel' _

In my claws I crumpled up the parchment and returned to my map reading. I lingered in hesitation, map unrolled in one hand, hanging limply, and the crumpled piece of parchment in the other. The parchment of course was the way out.

How Turel had known I was fatigued I did not know, though I am certain it was to do with all our bindings in blood.

Being from the same brood, our minds are closely linked – a spiritual umbilical cord that binds us together. Through this bind it has been known for each of us to know when the other is approaching 'change', or when one is experiencing it. Telepathy, or whatever it remains to be, we are all linked, chained together by our own fates.

Eventually I succumbed to Turel's invitation of seeking him out, wherever he was. The map I placed down on the dry part of the table and allowed it to roll itself back up.

Conceivably my brother was right, maybe that was what I needed – to rest, and maybe be in his company for a while. Perhaps I could gather together some counsel from my elder.

"I do not wish to be disturbed for a while," I concluded, glancing over my shoulder at the female servant.

"If that is what you wish my lord."

I blinked in hearing her voice for the first time. Taken slightly aback from suddenly hearing her voice, I nodded. But she paid little heed to me, focussing upon clearing up the blood and dabbing dry the map I had clumsily ruined in a moment of uncivilised manner.

She had accepted servitude a lot better than some, which I admit surprised me greatly. Some became so horrified of what lives they were to lead under vampiric rule that they simply endedtheirs. Though that happened more in Zephon's clan than that of my own.

I watched the servant for a brief moment and then withdrew. With no more words spoken I exited.

)-(

"_I knew that she was not meant to be here – that here she did not belong,  
__but to me she said, 'I have always been here my demon prince,  
__and it is for you I have come.'"_

_**- As written upon a scroll within Turel's former abode -**_

It was a relief to break away suddenly like that, to just, for a moment, find peace in doing absolutely nothing. I had not realised of how caught up I had become in studying those maps, and concluded that maybe I would be able to focus on them a lot more after having a break.

The night was fresh, and I looked deeply upon it as I exited my quarters, descended down stone steps and into the courtyard below.

An artful scene greeted me – one of peace, my whole clan awoken to the night, the usual duties being carried on around me, my guards keeping watch – unmoving, and deadly silent.

Three fledglings sat upon one wall. They gazed down intently upon me, their gazes glazed with contentment. No doubtfully they had just fed.

I did not ask anything of them, nor did I expect them to rise and salute me with the words of 'my lord', though the guards on duty did. Instead those of my children who I passed simply bowed their heads, their lips parted in a smile of appreciation and understanding.

Every now and then a whisper from a passing child would grace my mind, flitting in and out of my thoughts.

'_It is so good to see you my Lord Rahab, I hope this night finds you well?'_

This was the side to the vampiric clans that mortals never saw. They regarded us as little more than bloodthirsty monsters, too caught up in our decadence than to notice the world around us. But they are wrong.

They did not see the glory of our civilisations, of the bonding between the clans, and how we watched over each other. All the mortals ever saw were the vampiric armies of Lord Kain's empire and the fear that came with such.

But they missed the clan side; they refused to see beyond the element of just 'matching sentries', on the other hand perhaps we gave them little choice. They did not understand that my children were simply that – _my children,_ and that I was their sire. I pity those who never came to feel or understand the deep bond between master and fledgling.

It was through seeing my clan content that I felt content myself. Turel had been right in those briefly written words of his – a break from study is exactly what I needed.

Being out here and looking upon my own brought comfort and a sudden soothing element to me. All of them fulfilled the symphony of the night, and these were the times I loved so much – the gentler and calmer life and times within the clan.

The courtyard remained peaceful within the night air. I regarded the night once more – looking towards the sky – and then moved on, exiting through the gate close by and nodding at the two guards that stood there.

Moving onwards, though I did not rush, I considered going to sit close to an area of water. It was close to water that I could completely forget everything and just listen to the element. Yet I wondered where Turel was, and whether he was waiting somewhere for me – though he probably would have stated where he was in his note, if he were.

Finding Turel was of no importance really as I was not in desperate need of his council, but should he have been in the right mood, than I would have savoured his company. As a consequence I turned suddenly when I realised that I was being followed.

Yet behind me there was no one.

I hesitated and paused – holding tight to my breath in case I should need to suddenly defend myself. My hand lingered above the hilt of my sword, my claws twitching with anticipation and waiting.

"I knew that you would venture out, eventually," came a voice from the shadows.

"Hello, Turel," I said and relaxed my stance.

I turned back the way I been previously heading and there he stood, stepping out of the darkness and shrugging off the shadows, the nightly breeze caressing strands of his dark hair.

Turel smiled and seemed to be in a completely different mood then he had been out on our crusade. Perhaps it was because he was not under so much pressure, as not only did he have to organise his own clan but also put in order his younger brothers.

The Turelim had returned two nights after we had. They had found no leads or any sign of those who wielded flame. But this did not seem to halter Turel in his thoughts. Just because we had not caught them this time did not mean they could hide from us forever, and Turel was certain that sooner or later we _would_ catch them. Preferably sooner rather than later.

"Though I did wonder exactly when you would come out of brooding. Raziel said that there is no chance of speaking with you when you are studying something."

"Oh?" I chuckled, feeling at ease. "Raziel says the same about you."

"Is that so? Then we are more alike – you and I – than I imagined." He smiled kindly and gestured with his claws for me to continue my walk, this time with him accompanying me.

We continued walking for a while, talking briefly and taking in the night, our senses absorbing the atmosphere around us. We passed other vampires, walked down stone steps, and walked passed towering stone fortress walls, and towers that grew tall into the night sky.

We walked a pathway laced with fragmented, slanted moonlight, pouring from stained-glass windows. Once more, this was a side to the vampiric world unknown to mortals - nightly beauty. We 'lived' and 'breathed' – and I use those terms only in a manner of speaking – a world that remained mysterious and yet very frightening to them, one they could not, would not, ever accept.

"What is the problem?" I asked when talk dwindled between us.

My brother raised his eyebrows and regarded me as we continued to walk.

"Why speak of a problem?" His gaze averted back towards the pathway we walked. "Does there have to be a problem for one to see or speak with his kin?"

"No I suppose not. But I did wonder – "

"Rahab, Raziel said that you had been spending a lot of time with your maps, and I decided that it was time you rested from such." Turel chuckled – a profound, throaty laugh.

His laugh caught me off guard. It was deep and sounded unfamiliar, not quite right, for Turel was normally deadly serious – serious to a fierce point.

I paused and was silent before questioning him.

"You decided?"

"Indeed." He smirked devilishly, a rare smirk that he allowed to grace his serious face every now and then. "For the welfare of my younger brother."

I sighed. "And for that I am thankful."

The scenery began to alter around us as we continued our walk. I looked to the sky, but the tension that had formed within my shoulders jolted me for a moment and I adverted my gaze elsewhere. Looking up was painful, I deduced, rubbing my neck with my claws and trying to soothe the ache. Alas, that is what you get when you fall into rest in an awkward position.

"Melchiah said he had not seen you since we had returned from the East. That was a few weeks ago. It is a long time to be shut up in your chambers for."

Again I sighed, though I did not argue. I was too tired to argue. Besides, it was truth, I _had_ spent a lot of time pouring over those maps, and the night before had not been the first that I had fell into rest whilst doing such.

The times I had left my quarters had been little, and the times I had spent out of them had indeed been brief. No wonder it had felt like quite a while since I had set eyes on my brethren.

"I have been researching and studying the remaining areas." I justified my reason through the fact that remained truth: all the time alone in my chambers had been for the good of the vampiric race. Whether it had done me any good was another matter entirely. Still, that was but a small sacrifice.

"Some towns – that is all. Humanity is slowly falling."

"But some places still remain," I argued. "'Sanctuaries' –"

"Yes. Indeed, they do. But in time they will be ours." Turel clenched his claws together tightly in a moment of vigour. "Fret not, Rahab."

Did I fret like he suggested I did? Quite possibly, though the fretting was justifiable. I wanted to serve Lord Kain through the best of my abilities – there was always a great need in me to do that. Then there was my own clan – I wanted their futures to be assured without them having to worry about a sudden uprising of mortals.

"We all admire you for your loyalty to Lord Kain," Turel added in a moment of spontaneity.

I did not reply, but instead slowly allowed myself to drop to the ground in a fit of sudden tiredness. That is not to say that his words meant nothing to me, because, in truth, they did. They meant a very great deal. To have the admiration of the elder brethren was something, truly.

The scenery around us rose in rocky sharp cliff side, and we were upon the very edge. I sat there, hanging my feet over the edge and lazily looking downwards. The drop was steep, and the bottom seemed limitless.

"About your weakness to light – "

I nearly fell from my place of sitting with Turel's sudden proclamation of my weakness. Perhaps this was where he told me he no longer thought I was capable of leading the Rahabim. Maybe he was here to tell me that Lord Kain agreed. Is this why he had suggested I take a walk with him? But I had asked him if there was a problem and he had spoke of none.

"Turel – it was but a moment of weakness," I said, my voice highlighted with a sudden serious urgency and an edge of a protective element. "It will not happen again, of that I assure you."

"And _can_ you be so sure?" He gave me a sharp scrutinising gaze as if awaiting my reply. "Well? Can you, Rahab?"

I felt nervous, as if it was he was questioning my very lordship. If I had been standing this is where I would have started pacing the floor. Turel must have sensed my nervousness as he rested a set of claws on my shoulder as if for reassurance.

"Be at peace Rahab, I have come not to judge you. Instead I wished simply to speak to you of such, what it was you felt at the time."

And so I told him. I told him of how it was it had felt like my very pupils had been on fire, how it was how my eyes had wept in the midst of battle and continued throughout rest. How I had awoken to find my eyes sealed shut with a bloody, dry, scab-like coating – as if it were my eyes had endured some major wound and where attempting to heal themselves.

And so I told him. I told him of how it was it had felt like my very pupils had been on fire, how they had wept and then how I had woken to find my eyes sealed shut with bloody scabs – as if it were my eyes had tried in vain to heal themselves.

"Interesting," he said, resting a set of claws upon his face so that they curved around the base of his chin. "If it happens again, you will not hesitate to seek me out, will you?"

I stared defiantly out to the crevice below my feet and did not return his gaze.

"This should not be looked upon lightly, Rahab, for the safety of your clan."

I nodded, still not returning his gaze but knowing that he was quite right.

"For the safety of yourself," he added mixed with a complex gaze of seriousness.

"It might be a condition that eventually affects us all. Of course, none of us can be in sunlight for too long, but never before have I seen this..." Turel's thoughts submerged him in silence. For moments he became the philosophiser locked in his deep chamber – that of his mind.

Turel leant against the side of the cliff face, his arms folded across his broad chest as looked back at the way we had come. His lips were pursed in deep thought, his brow furred, whilst the moonlight caught the sharp features of his inhuman face.

"Maybe it is the change..." he mused.

A frown descended upon my face at that point. Carefully I turned to look up at him. "What be the change?"

"Your sudden exhaustion," he replied, hinting at my sudden sitting down, whilst his gaze was still fixed upon where it had been moments before.

No notice did I take, but instead brushed the idea of change aside. It could not be that, could it?

"Dumah has just had a short period of change. Perhaps now it is your turn?"

I ignored him and continued to look out at the drop below.

"It would explain your sudden withdrawal."

"I was looking upon the maps."

Turel sighed and retorted dryly, and with a tiny hint of sarcasm, "Oh indeed, perhaps it is not that than." Yet the sarcasm seemed very far from him.

"You cannot hide from the inevitable, my little sibling, no matter how much you wish too. What will come will come, and what will happen will happen – you alone should know this."

I thought upon his words. He was right, I knew this. But I could not help but take his words and analyse them deeper then perhaps he intended me to do. He said that I could not hide from the inevitable, and I wondered, is that what it seemed I was doing, did Turel think this? Did Turel think I feared the future? Did he believe I feared what this weakness to light would inevitably become? If he did then he was right.

I admit it, like I have one thousand times before. Though admitting such will do little to change the circumstances. Surely everyone fears weakness whether they are a warrior or not, whether they are mortal or immortal. Perhaps immortals fear weakness and the vulnerabilities it brings more then mortals. After all it is immortals that feel that they will go on forever. Finding a weakness suggests otherwise. Whereas immortals strive for the perfect essence throughout eternity, mortals will accept that they have flaws.

I watched Turel. He had gone quite, and I understood that slowly I was loosing his attention, as now it seemed focussed on something entirely different. Soon enough he stooped talking altogether

"Turel?" His sudden silence became dominant. I titled my head to one side in inquisitiveness as I got back up and stood whilst looking at him.

"What do you look upon? You have been looking in that direction for a while now."

Turel did not reply straight away, and when he did, calmly he said, "someone watches us, they have been doing so for a while now – since we walked this way and you sat down."

For a moment his words stunned me that I could not help but stand there – my eyebrows raised in slight surprise. I had not detected anyone following or watching us, though that might have been because my mind was on other things.

"Whom do you speak of?"

With his index claw so he indicated the small silhouette in the darkness.

The darkness obscured them, and the distance between us made it not so clear to whom they were. I glanced at my brother and then back in the direction of the silhouette. Nevertheless, as it was I turned my attention back to them, I was soon to discover that they had suddenly gone.

'_Obscurity in its purest form,' _was the thought that passed through my mind, and I remember the chill that followed it. Why was it that such a silhouette cast such forebode within my mind and my soul? I withdrew my glance from the area to which we had looked upon as if I feared I would be snatched away from this world. A ridiculous thought? Perhaps, but who am I to argue?

"A fledgling," I concluding with uncertainty. "Probably looking for me, though I did state I wanted not to be disturbed for a while. I suppose it has been some while now though."

Turel snorted with gentle laughter. "You give me little credit. What makes you think they were looking for you? They might have been looking for me."

We felt the drops of rain upon the wind and together decided that now was the time for us to return to our abodes.

As I reached my quarters I stood in the doorway, sheltered, and watched as the rain began to fall. It was gentle at first and then became heavier as a storm graced the skies.

Finally I closed the doors and turned to head back towards my quarters. The respite had served its purpose, and yet, deep inside me I still felt this drop of unrest.

Within my rooms I noticed that the table was now clean – the blood having been cleaned up. The maps, though they were still there on the table, had been tidied and two piles made.

I leant on my chair and leaned over the table, glaring at the maps for a brief moment. I looked upon them and yet I did not think of them. I thought more about my time with Turel, and what he had spoken of.

My interest with the maps I switched off. I ignored them, and stood straight once more, backing away from the table and then heading for my chambers. I withdrew, knowing that it was best if I now rested.

Behind me I bolted the doors to my chamber.

Before I settled within rest for the day I considered and wondered – who had been that one who had watched Turel and I?

It was a relief to shrug offmy garb, and then to stretch my hands over my head as rest finally caught up with me.

Rubbing my eyes with the backs of my claws I debated within my mind that perhaps it _had_ been a fledgling. In spite of that I had received no message that someone had been looking for me upon my return. Maybe they had been looking for Turel after all.

"Yes," I concluded to myself that that had indeed been the case.

Besides, if it had been a fledgling I am more than certain that they would have approached me and not just move swiftly onwards like they had never been there in the first place. It was almost as if they were not meant to be there, as if they were never meant to be seen. As if, if seeing them would change everything.

The blankets on my bed were soft under my touch.

Whoever they were, it cannot have been that important if they had just left like that.

Darkness was a welcoming retreat once more. Rest would bring me peace – I discovered, and I lay back onto my bed and pulled the blankets over me.

My eyes were soon to close, and the last thoughts that penetrated my mind were of that figure, and then – nothing more.


	8. Before he Left

**Seven  
**_Before he Left_

"_Before he left, one promise I did make to him.  
__Before he returned, one promise I did break."_

**- From the torn pages of a long-forgotten book -**

"The Melchiahim?"

Zephon's voice echoed around the Pillars' chamber, it upheld his doubt and was corded throughout with vocals that were bitter and dry. I glanced at him in an unreceptive manner, though ready to speak out if he intended to push this matter any further.

Turel was frowning. Our eldest, Raziel, stood inert – his lips pursed slightly, arms folded, and watching Zephon through a detached gaze.

"Zephon." There was a warning behind the voice that spoke his name, but it came from none of the brethren, for it was Lord Kain who silenced the Zephonim Lord. Zephon, not foolish enough to aggravate Lord Kain, said no more.

We stood inline before Lord Kain and Raziel – who was standing beside him.

The Lord of Vampires watched his sons before him, twisting the Soul Reaver within his claws as he did so.

The ruined Pillars lingered in their chamber like fallen monarchs who had long ago been forgotten, and their palaces long ago conquered. Pieces crumbled from their ruined forms every now and then, and a lingering essence quivered throughout the hall.

At the base of the Pillar of Balance, Lord Kain had made his throne – set deep within the soul of Nosgoth – whilst the other Pillars stood silently, looking on in mute disapproval.

A council had been called, and like always it was held here within the heart of the Sanctuary of the Clans. The very walls of this vast hall had been witness to a verity of motions, battle strategies, and judgements that had been passed throughout the centuries of Lord Kain's empire.

Our council had been called to discuss the elements of the failing of humanity, which now dwelled within our lands like flickering lights awaiting the final strike that would end them once and for all. But we debated amongst ourselves, after all, a balance had to be called.

We did not want to wipe humanity out entirely. They were our nourishment, and we needed to feed daily so as to keep our bodies intact and our souls immortal. We intended to simply bring the mortals under our rule – use them for our own desires, and wipe out all those who would dare even consider rising up against Lord Kain.

Of course there _were_ those who tended to openly display their displeasure of our civilisation, those who were intending to revolt against the rule of our sire. Such creatures came up in our discussion and remained to be a dominant element of our talk. And within our conversations and debates they came within the disguise of this 'resistance' – those mortals who carried weapons that wielded flame.

We concluded that in destroying this resistance we would quell all the last aspects of the mortals 'hope', and in doing so they would fall. _Quickly._

I had presented my maps to the Council and to Lord Kain, showing them the remaining parts of Nosgoth – those parts that were under our influence, and those few places that were not. From there we plotted our next course.

Eagerly I spoke to Lord Kain as I stood before him, as if my words were but for his ears alone. He had beckoned me closer, and up to his throne I had strode, whilst gently placing the maps within his claws.

Lord Kain had sat on his throne, pouring over the maps I had given to him, his chin resting on one of his hands, the Soul Reaver gripped within the other, and one of the maps – the more up-to-date one – lying within his lap.

"This, my lord, this small piece is the land that holds sway at your Northern boarders. Not yet is it under our control," I said keenly, pointing to a small stretch of land on the map.

"I see," Lord Kain mused for a moment; the look within his eyes was intent. Yet, I had noticed a change within him over the past few years. Not to dishonour my sire, but when our campaign for control over Nosgoth had first begun, when still we were young in our afterlife, his Lordship had seemed a lot more eager to claim land. There had always been a dark eagerness within his eyes, a dark fire fuelled by the aspects of revenge – or so I am told.

But as Lord Kain's empire was to come to its most potent point – the epitome of vampiric rule – so it was Lord Kain's mannerisms and attitudes changed. He no longer seemed as eager in his domination like he had in our fledgling days. Perhaps it was because at that point, when this council had been called, Lord Kain was aware that things were now beginning to change, and things were to be set in an unstoppable motion. He has told me, that these were the things that he had little control over.

"Raziel, what say you on this matter?"

The rest of us remained silenced whilst it was Lord Kain consulted Raziel.

Moments later the next targeted area of land was fortified. It was a simple piece of terrain in the Northern territory where only a small handful of towns remained. It would be an easy region to claim. All in all, they would be fairly simple to deal with, and there was no need for all of us to go marching in that direction.

And so, the idea of who should be sent had come forth.

"My clan is ready. We could leave right now, if that is what you desire my lord."

The Council's attention was diverted to Dumah.

Dumah stood tall and proud, claws clamped tight behind his back, and his gaze as harsh and cold as ice. Truly he was quite the warrior.

There was no diplomatic side to Dumah; he was purely just the combatant. He asked the questions and he expected the answers, and god help those who never answered him. The Dumahim Lord was challenging, fierce like fire, wild spirited, at times – strongly opinionated and exceptionally headstrong. But he was always good in the midst of a battle – his strategies and overall fighting skills were things to be admired.

At Dumah's proposal so it was Lord Kain's eyes had flickered with interest.

"Your clan suffered some loss in the last battle, are they fully recovered," the Turelim Lord asked.

Turel's voice was as potent as ever; calm radiating from the depths of his vocals. He was posing the question forward in knowing that Dumah would do anything, say anything, with the prospect of battle.

I noticed that Raziel was also looking in Dumah's direction, his lips still pursed in a moment of thought.

"My lord, if I may?"

Lord Kain sat back and slouched deep within his throne. "By all means, continue, Raziel."

Raziel nodded. "Dumah, your clan may indeed be ready, however," Raziel's eyes glimmered with this statement – a small flicker of arrogance within our eldest, whilst the rest of us were held in trepidation with the word 'however'.

"Within a task such as this – I do not think it is necessary to send the Dumahim."

Dumah frowned at this, his eyes darkening slightly. He did not speak out or challenge our eldest, but we all knew he was thinking about doing so.

"The Dumahim are a clan of extreme force," Raziel said. "Such force is not necessary in a task such as this." Raziel looked towards Lord Kain. "That is but my opinion, sire."

Silence, though I was slowly nodding my approval in Raziel's direction. He was indeed judicious to state such, and I am sure that Lord Kain agreed fully with him.

There is no point sending a full legion out – marching at full tilt, weapons blazing – if there is no need for such. We spoke of two towns, three at the most, and small ones at that. It would not take long to convert the land to the vampiric populace, and Dumah would just cause more quarrel then what was necessary. His clan were not needed.

"What about the Rahabim?"

The Council's attention was now most regrettably upon me, oh and how I longed to creep away from their analytical gazes. But that loan suggestion had not been spoken by me, for suggesting the Rahabim had been the last thing on my mind and certainly not the first word I would have spoken after Raziel's counsel. No, such a suggestion had come from Turel.

Turel, Turel who always reminded me of a wild spirit who had been long ago restrained, tamed – one who had once been brutal and deadly. And though the essence of being brutal and deadly was still there, he had a way of hiding such element – unless, of course, he was provoked. He was a true old soul who had learnt from his days as a youngling, and such lessons had taught him well. Though it did not make him any less fierce than any other vampire.

I imagined Turel to have a soul with a sharp edge to it, one who was holding himself back from being overly passionate. The Turelim Lord resided within a manner that was highly sagacious, a true predator, one whom had the essence of what felt like a storm brewing out at sea. He would always watch before going in for the final strike, contemplative, calm in appearance, and yet there was another side to him. Another side – one that, without warning, he would suddenly unleash upon his unsuspecting victim.

As much as I respected Turel, I was swift to reject his idea. No, I could not go; this task was not for me. Besides, at that moment I was finding myself stretched between moments of concentration, and I was becoming more restless as each night passed.

From the night I had conversed with Turel, so the restlessness had grew, though I had not told him or any of the others about this. Some nights I would pace the floor of my quarters, walking up and down like a wraith that could never be put to rest. The female servant would watch me through a curious gaze, though she did not question my strange manners, for it was either in her nature not to, or she feared and loathed me – I suspected both.

The night before the council, the maps had lay forgotten on the table, and I had stood by one of the windows – looking out at the courtyard below. My mind was far from being focussed upon the matter at hand, and I had yet to identify the best areas of our next advancement.

Inside me was something deep, something grinding my senses, preventing me from focussing.

As I looked out the window I became aware that someone was watching me, their eyes gentle upon my back, and I sensed that they stood in the doorway.

I turned my head to acknowledge them – the female servant. I had heard her enter moments earlier, but now she had stopped her work and was watching me.

For a short moment I continued to glance at her over my shoulder – our gazes locked, and then my gaze was averted back to the window.

Time passed, yet when I could no longer stand her watching me I asked, "Is there a hindrance?"

There had been a pause and then, "No, my lord."

I heard her pick something up, and for a while everything resumed in its ways – she continued her work, and then, and then she was speaking once again.

"My lord, are – are you alright?" Her words were slightly tensed, and a couple of them came out stuttered, like she was afraid to ask such.

I never answered her question, how could I? She would never understand. Mortals cannot possibly comprehend what it is that ignites an immortal's soul. And she would not understand of how it was my insides felt torn, how restlessness would come and go, how for moments I just could not stay focussed.

Inside there was this strange sensation of where I wanted to break down every barrier and just become wild. Think of that! I, Rahab, contemplative and quiet son of Lord Kain had an overwhelming desire to give himself to the wildness of his nature. Disregard any garb and to rise and meet the night, embrace the darkness and just become untamed, tempestuous – so like my beloved element!

Bitterness rose within me for no apparent reason, though my rationality fought with this duelled side, calming my demeanour, my claws clamped together tightly.

"It matters not."

"Surely it does." The words left her lips before she had a chance to retract them, and as I abruptly turned to completely face her. I noticed and took delight in how her eyes flickered with trepidation.

"And why does it," I snapped. "Why does it seem to matter to one such as yourself? Does it matter because you – _little mortal_ – says it does?" My eyes tapered, I tilted my head to one side. "You are strange for one of mortal blood. Never before have I seen one such as yourself adapt to servitude with an acceptance that lingers in duty."

Initially I thought that maybe my words had confused her, for she hesitated with a loitered hush, though afterwards it became clear that her pause had merely been consideration.

"You prevented what could have been my death." She removed her gaze from me, and her head dropped downwards. "I am bound to you in service, if not to serve you with my gratitude."

I was now the one to pause, my mouth half open, as it was I was to speak something in retort. But I allowed it to pass, and instead muttered, _"Is that the only reason why?"_ But no reply was made.

The next night I rose with a greeting of realisation that I had yet to mark out the land that remained not to be ours. This would not do, the Council expected me to present those maps to them, they expected me to speak of the land, of lore, and give them my thoughts and opinions.

I walked briskly into the main room, reaching for the maps that were still on the table. As I gazed at them I came to realise that the correct one had already been selected and the regions of land not in our territory had also been marked.

A slight sigh of relief escaped me; one less thing to focus upon. Strange though, for I had no recollection of doing such an act, and as I leant against a chair for a moment to re-gather my stance as a sudden swift movement of fatigue tugged upon me, I concluded that I must have marked it before retiring to rest the night before. Yet still no memory of such surfaced.

"_Madness..."_ was the word I whispered to myself, and slowly the fatigue passed. I collected my maps and left, heading towards the Sanctuary of the Clans.

"Rahab, your thoughts on this?"

My thoughts? This task was not meant for me. I had nothing to prove here, though I would go if Lord Kain asked it of me. If he did not, then, I would gladly allow another to take the honour, and I knew just whom that other was.

In a calm demeanour I replied, "Why not the Melchiahim?"

My question sparked sudden silence, and then glances. The Vampire Lords looked to one another, and then looked at me to question. I myself looked to Melchiah, my face betraying none of my feelings, hidden behind the mask I wore often, one that was pale and unbreakable, calm, reflective, and always, always watching.

Zephon's claws twitched suddenly. It was a sign of impulsive agitation and annoyance. Such elements were forged at my sudden proposal that had condemned hush to fall within the Sanctuary of the Clans. It was then that Zephon had spoken out – his voice dry and hinted with a hue of sarcasm.

"The Melchiahim?"

His lips sneered into a smile, his eyes bewitched. "Forgive me for asking, but, what have the Melchiahim got that the Zephonim have not – or the Dumahim in such a matter?"

I did not reply, and neither did the others. Instead they awaited my retort.

I admit that, in a way, I was baiting Zephon. Surely he would not be foolish enough to argue in front of Lord Kain? Such would be a tragic folly.

Turel stepped forwards and turned towards Zephon. "Zephon, is there a problem with sending the Melchiahim? And, if there is, care to tell us about it?"

"A problem?" The Zephonim Lord chuckled and he shook his head. "No, not unless you want this task to fail."

I bit back my own comments and awaited his remarks. Allow the spider to dance and spin his own web, for in the end he will only ensnare himself.

"And their problem," Turel went on to enquire.

"They are..." But the words never left Zephon's lips, though we all knew what he was about to say – _'The Melchiahim, they are weak.'_ But even Zephon knew better than to speak of such in front of Lord Kain, and it was very wise that he did.

To insult any of us was to insult our sire.

Of course it was true, Melchiah was weak compared to the rest of us, but 'twas best not to speak of such so loudly. If Zephon intended to torment Melchiah about his weaknesses, he was usually intelligent enough not to do so in front of Lord Kain.

From the corner of my eye I could see Melchiah, and I could see that he was torn greatly between replying or staying mute. I turned my head towards him, my eyes flickering gently to bay him still, and so he did.

"Enough. You are my lieutenants, not some ill-mannered mortals. I expect better from you than this." Lord Kain's cold voice echoed through the hall emotionlessly. He was standing now, looking at Zephon and then Melchiah.

My reason for nominating Melchiah to go was simple. He alone deserved this task – Melchiah, our youngest, and I was certain that this was the point that he could prove himself to everyone. It was his chance to wipe that smirk off Zephon's face, to show that his clan may not have been as strong as the others, but they were still noble.

I alone understand that strength is not everything, though Dumah would be swift to argue. Strength in its entire demeanour, is but a mere pinprick compared to everything else that makes a great vampire.

Melchiah's clan were suited to this task. They would be able to ambush the towns before the mortals even realised what was upon them. It was ideal, a swift attack, a swift expand of more land, and even Melchiah would gain from this.

My eyes fell upon Lord Kain, for he alone had the final say in the matter – only he could decided, lest he left it to Raziel.

There was a distant look upon our sire's face. I was not sure whether he was considering this matter or thinking upon another. In truth at that moment he did not seem truly focussed, it was like he seemed one million leagues away.

These past couple of nights in seeing him, Lord Kain had had his moments, though a majority of the time they had been swift. In a matter of moments he was soon to compose himself, and any moment of where he looked remote, was forgotten.

"Very well, the Melchiahim will go." The sentence was simple, so simple in fact that none of us spoke for a moment. And then Lord Kain's eyes fell coldly on Zephon.

"If, that is alright with the rest of you." It was not a question, but a statement, and we all knew better than to argue.

With no more words our lord was soon to disappear, leaving us to stand-alone in the Pillars' chamber, silence remaining.

For a while we all lingered, as did our silence, for just because we did not see Lord Kain, it did not necessarily mean that he was not there.

The silence remained even upon leaving, for there was nothing else to dispute. Lord Kain's words were always final, they always have been, and even Dumah and Zephon knew this.

The remaining lords began to leave the hall. I watched them go, filing out in a single line. Zephon left first, and then Dumah, Turel and Raziel – looking back over his shoulder at me – until it was only Melchiah and I who remained.

When the others had completely gone my stance sagged in exhaustion – it having caught up with me – as emptiness filled the hall. I allowed my muscles to relax and undid the binding in my hair, permitting it to fall loose, whilst running my claws through the black strands quickly.

"It could have been you." Melchiah's voice upheld uncertainty, as if he were reluctant to take this task because he was unsure of why I had recommended his clan – more so because his other siblings did not seem to bestow their complete faith upon his succession.

I brought two claws to my forehead and attempted to massage my temples as to try and calm the vertigo that had arisen.

"Is that what you would have wanted, Melchiah?"

I approached a Pillar and regarded it, resting my claws on its surface. Then I walked to another. Again came the restlessness.

With each step I took, Melchiah followed me somewhere behind, gesturing with his claws in a desperate mannerism with every word that he spoke. I could not help but take notice of the desperation that he vocals held.

It saddened me that some of the brethren had little faith in our youngest, and it saddened me even more so to see that this reflected upon Melchiah's whole disposition, that even he was doubting himself. Melchiah lacked confidence, but I hoped to restore it.

"This task would be better off in your claws."

"Nay, little brother, and I know that is not what you wish either."

"But, Rahab, you do not see –"

My pacing halted, my claw rested gently against the surface of a Pillar. "Do you question Lord Kain's decision?" I shot the question back at Melchiah and turned suddenly to face him, because I knew it would silence him. Lord Kain had chosen him to go, would he dare challenge that?

His gaze dropped submissively. He bowed his head and turned away from my gaze. "Rahab, I..."

To see Melchiah like this wounded me greatly. I could feel what he could as if I were apart of him. I approached him gradually and rested my claws upon his shoulders as if to give him apart of my strength.

"Speak not, gentle brother, words do nothing for this moment." I gave him a reassuring grip and I drew close to his ear and spoke, "This task is now yours. Seize this opportunity with both claws, hold swift to it."

Melchiah did not say anything, and I began to draw away – though my claws still rested upon his shoulders.

"Go, go now Melchiah and ready your clan. I have put my faith in you, as has Lord Kain."

For a while we remained, until it was a small cry of pain escaped Melchiah.

My claws upon his shoulders had suddenly drawn blood from the shoulder that was not protected by his armour, as I dug my talons in sharp. Not intentionally by all means, but suddenly the vertigo had become overpowering, and unconsciously I had dug my claws in deep, hoping to gain control of this feeling or at least make it subside.

I pulled myself from him quickly and pitifully withdrew, wavering in my steps, whilst my claws were painted in his dark blood.

I held myself in a bent over stance, as if to resemble the posture of an old hag. Inside, I certainly felt like one. My head I lifted and looked over at Melchiah, fearful suddenly that I had hurt my brother whose skin was so very delicate and subtle.

These feelings and overpowering emotions – this almost illness – made me foolish, made me hurt others if my mind but strayed a moment. And suddenly I understood what was happening to me.

I fell silent, not because I had no more to say, but because of the vertigo that had arose. And such vertigo made me silent that no more could I speak.

"Melchiah, _forgive,_" I said, finally.

He cut my words short, forgetting the wound I had inflicted, as his skin already attempted to heal itself. He was never a good healer – he never has been. Thus, in the end he eventually ended up snatching the skins of others.

"Rahab, what is wrong?" He came close and attempted to support me, but I would not allow him to be near me, apprehensive that I would harm him once again.

"Nothing, brother," I lied, giving him a small, false smile. "Now, go."

I pushed him away from me with force, knowing that if he did not leave me now, than he would never go.

Melchiah hesitated in the entrance for a moment, sceptical of whether to abandon me or not. Inside I was begging him to leave. I knew what was going to happen, and perhaps it was the pride inside of me that begged him to never see me in that state.

"Go." This time, it was an order, one that – as I wilted slightly in my stance – was made strong by a growl at the back of my throat.

Eventually he admitted defeat.

"I will go. Will you come and see me before the Melchiahim leave?"

In exhaustion I nodded. "Yes Melchiah, and I will pass thee thy armour and sword."

He smiled at me in hearing that statement, though behind the smile I could sense how reluctant he was to leave – knowing and sensing that something was wrong, that something was happening to me.

"Melchiah, _go._"

And this time he did.

)-(

I do not know how I managed to return to my own realm, and stagger up the stone steps to my quarters, though I have brief memories. I remember the concerned glances off my children, those on guard, duty or merely resting and embracing the night.

Oh and how I would have done anything to have them close, to embrace them and feel their heartbeats merging with my own. But the first moments of this progression was dangerous for them, and I wished not to harm them, not my children, _never..._

So I uncharacteristically warned my children off, and any who came close to help me up the stairs I snarled at, my eyes darkened, _'No, my children, stay away!'_

Inside of me was this thirst that battled onwards and threatened to consume me. My clan, for now, kept their distance at my own wishes.

The doors to my quarters were thrown open as I staggered through. The corridors to my quarters seemed endless, and in my delusional mind they appeared to stretch on forever. The atmosphere appeared to be cool, though my skin sweated, and I felt like I was dazed as I swayed through each and every room, driven forwards in hope of locating my chambers.

One recollection remains clear. It is a memory of me collapsing suddenly to the floor but a small distance away from my rooms.

And I lay there, chest upon the floor – rising and falling harshly. Cold floor beneath me, a set of claws outstretched in a way of desperation, where I hoped as if by some merciful chance, I could bring my chambers to me.

Ah, this everlasting weakness.

For a moment I lay still, sprawled out and between the grasps of awakening and rest. My mind did not fully respond to me, I discovered. In this small unconscious moment of my essence considering itself, I thought that I had passed out upon the floor of the main room.

There was calm for a few moments. Even so, when it was my body convulsed, my eyes reopened and I realised that I was still conscious, and with an understanding that I had to try and get back up. At least in the safety of my chambers and upon my bed I would receive proper rest. For it would only be there that I could allow this unnatural course of nature to play out.

Slowly, I managed to get to my knees – pulling myself to my feet with the help of anything I could get my claws upon. Whilst this little strength remained in me, I made haste to my rooms; stumbling as I went and then collapsing upon my bed, and dropping down into the blankets face first.

My claws clenched deep into the fabric of the covers, whilst I breathed through gritted teeth. If only I could make this feeling go away.

This feeling separated itself into many sentiments, combined together of vertigo and the beginning threads of nausea, and pains that convulsed throughout my body, tearing at my muscles. I sweated like all so suddenly I had an illness, though malady could never embellish my body. And rooted deep was a struggle that was fought in bouts of rationality and bloodlust.

I turned over and lay upon my back, staring at the ceiling. My hands shook as I attempted to undo the buckles upon my armour. My claws made the task a whole lot tedious then normal. I pulled what I could off and sat up, again gritting my teeth as faintness conquered the room, making it sway backwards and forth.

A brief instant later I had collapsed back onto the bed, armour half on and half off. The remains of my garb – trousers and boots, were left on, though straps remained half unfastened, half pulled, half twisted, untied. This, I could no longer fight...

I pitched myself onto my side, drawing my legs up close to my chest, knowing that this was but the beginning, and closed my eyes.

I did not see Melchiah leave with his clan, I was not reserved the chance. By that time I was already progressing. Exhaustion had claimed me, and metamorphosis tore at my soul.


	9. When the Bloodlust Calls

**Eight  
**_When the Bloodlust Calls_

The silhouette seemed familiar, as did the darkness, yet the shadowed figure appeared to stand out against such a backdrop of night.

It felt like I was drifting, and for a few seconds there was peace – peace and emptiness. Then there was a voice, a voice that snatched me from the silence and guided me back to awakening. It seemed to be the voice of night, day having ended, a new dusk to awake to, as well as a new pain.

In moments of absentness I muttered within rest, sweat gathered upon my brow, and when restlessness harvested by thoughts, I tossed and turned.

"_Rest now..."_ There was that voice once more, the one that had pulled me from the depths of eternal darkness. I had thought that it had been the voice of evening, the one that beckoned to a vampire when the sun had set, when the mortals were asleep.

That voice of evening – how she would call. She would beckon you by calling upon the very threads of the tantalising lust for blood, and sometimes you alone would wake due to the hunger that you felt inside. This voice however, I was soon to discover, was not the voice of evening or hunger, but was the voice of another.

My claws lay open and unmoving, relaxed gently, though the talons twitched slightly when what felt like a hand touched them. I allowed the contact to remain through the strands of reassurance, whilst the faint smell of a Mortal caressed my senses.

Reflexes within me suddenly awoke to that human scent, that human touch, that human... so close... _How foolish..._

My claws reacted suddenly, clamping hard around the hand that touched them. There was a gasp of impulsive shock. They had not expected me to awaken so suddenly.

My eyes shot open.

Ah, the female servant. She remained motionless in my grasp, like a creature caught within a hunters aim. Her eyes were wide with that everlasting fear, though I wondered why she feared me now, for in this state – at this present time, I could do little to harm her.

Our gazes remained fixed upon each other, mine being entirely dominant even though I was weak.

My mind acted on the scene that remained unravelled. I questioned her presence here, to why a mortal, to why merely a servant was within my chambers, obviously without permission. If I had had the energy to frown I would have done.

I glanced around to see if there was anyone else within my chambers, for where were my fledglings? No one but the servant and myself were here. Much to my relief my fledglings were not, after all, it was safer for them not to be.

We remained that way for a while, until it was I released my grip upon her hand and turned my head slightly so that I could look upon her better. No words were exchanged between us, and constantly I watched her – inquisitively, for she seemed to be here at her own accordance.

All my other servants knew that in times of change it was best that no one came near. Yet nothing more was surprising then the fact that... she... willingly tended to me.

She stepped back a few paces and stood still. Now that I was awake she was unsure of whether she should continue tending to me, or whether she should leave at once, or whether she should wait for me to rebuke her. All these thoughts flickered through her mind, the servant knowing that she had no rights in being here, that indeed she was trespassing and whatever happened to her now that I was awake, was all her own fault. For 'tis never wise to enter the resting place of a vampire.

I exhaled in contentment – not condemning her from the room, and turned my gaze away from her, focusing upon the ceiling instead.

With no clear protest she continued to make it her task in seeing to me.

The stroke of her hand touching my skin made my senses react. How cold her hands felt compared my flesh... or was it vice versa? Was it that her hands were warm but my skin was cold? I could not tell as my senses were too tangled to even begin to figure it out.

Gently, and with care, she pushed away sweaty strands of hair from my face. My eyes were now focussed upon the servant once more, and they followed her every movement – observing her gestures.

What had I asked for that had resulted in her doing this? I considered all aspects, wondering how Zephon would have acted if it had been but he who had awoken to this.

Mortals, it was in our nature to despise them, and it was in theirs to despise us. Yet here was one tending to a vampire, and not just any vampire, but a Vampire Lord. Oh what had the great strands of fate done to twist this factor of fortune?

But I was careful of her, for as I have said before, what would she ask of me in doing such a task? Immortality perchance? It would seem natural for one such as her kind to take advantage of some pathetic creature in their weakest moment, and I wondered – could she be that manipulative? Only time would tell, for now though, I let her be.

Through bewilderment I was still trying to readjust my senses to the atmosphere around me. In times of change our senses were always slower, as were our reactions. The bewilderment of my senses were once again combined with the one factor of why she was here, it was a thought, which at that moment would not leave me.

Moments again and I considered asking her, if I could muster the strength. My eyes flickered, my lips parting to try and speak and then sudden pain that wrapped its grip tightly around me, biting into my nerves. Cruelly it reminded me that I was still in the state of change, and that I would remain like this for quite a few nights to come.

My body convulsed in that familiar flow. I arched my spine, muscles tensed, teeth gritted. I brought my claws up and then suddenly twisted my hands in a gesture of a result that came from the hurt. My lips partied though no sound left them – muted, a silent scream, as change ravaged onwards.

The price of immortality was this – this unbearable moment. Though the end result would benefit me, I could not help but take notice of the doubt that lingered within my soul.

The servant came close once more and rested one of her hands upon my forehead; distantly such contact made, surprisingly brought me the strangest comfort.

Oh how could I be so weak? Yet there was no other way. To let pain be triumphant was but the only way forwards, and in doing so I had to bare the hurt.

Nausea concluded the sudden instant of displeasure. I lay in that twisted position for a few moments, lungs paused upon respiration, physique cramping beyond control. When it past again I collapsed, my muscles suddenly relaxing with weakness, caving in under my own weight.

The pain past and out of habit I lay gasping, my muscles hurting due to the sudden collision of cramp that had just grasped at them. Next to me the servant moved, she held onto something within her hands, a cloth dampened by water.

So suddenly, if I did not speak out my body would be refined with even more pain!

At first my vocals seemed to be frozen upon the weakness that I was slave to. But as she went to bring the moist cloth to my face my hand shot out and gripped her wrist tightly.

"_No, do not..."_

For a moment I listened to those words and surprised myself at how weakly they had left my lips.

"_You must not."_ I continued, looking at her through glazed eyes.

She looked at me in a confused state but dared not go against what I had said, and her eyes remained distant with puzzlement. Puzzlement... did she not know? Did she not know of how water could destroy vampires, that a small budding drop upon our skin could cause so much pain?

"_Water – burns us..."_ I replied in hope of soothing her bafflement.

"Oh." Her voice sounded dismayed as she dropped the cloth to the floor promptly, like it had contained poison, or as if it had even burned her. "Forgive me, I did not know."

"_You did not?" _

Her admittance to not knowing shocked me. _"I thought that,"_ and I chuckled, though the laugh nearly choked me – sounding dry and raucous – and it seemed to rattle within my chest. Quickly I sat up. What pain laughter brought me.

In sitting up so I noticed the fact that my armour and garb had been removed. This also raised questions, though when her cheeks flushed slightly I decided against asking.

My choking halted. I tilted my head back and opened my mouth wide in sudden exasperation.

Afterwards, I collapsed back onto my bed once more.

With irritation and frustration I threw parts of the blankets back. Enveloping heat escaped and was replaced with the cool touch of night air. I lay exposed, defeated, exhausted, decaying, _drained._

The servant came close and descended to her knees next to the bed and asked, "You thought what, my lord?"

A weak smile and a reply,_ "That every mortal would know... how to... harm..."_

Her eyes flickered. It seems laughable to state or even consider that they flickered in concern. "But your fever," she continued to speak. "How am I to calm it if –"

I raised my right claw wearily and pressed it against her lips to bay her silence._ "'Tis not a fever." _

My touch startled her. She allowed my claw to remain so close to her, though I am not sure whether it was from morbid fascination or true dread.

"_Then what is it?" _She asked curiously, whispering suddenly as if it was some sudden secret.

"_Change, 'tis change." _

In speaking of such so openly, through the word 'change', it felt that I had now condemned myself to nights of suffering. I hoped that rest would find me before then and bay quiet upon my soul before the torment continued.

In the depths of seclusion my mind fortified its own decision. Here knelt the young woman, who before would have been so happy to burn my flag – delighted in burning all of our flags, and then continue to dance in the ashes afterwards. This same mortal was now here, next to me, attempting to soothe what she considered to be a 'fever'. The very idea was laughable.

"_Calm female, why do you care so? I thought one such as you would delight in seeing... one such as I, being in pain."_

"I did not come to torment you, my lord."

"_And why did you then?"_

"To..." She frowned, perhaps she was uncertain of her reasons as well. It seemed she was but a slave to her own thoughts, as well as to me, acting out what either of us demanded of her.

This question she could not answer, that much was truth. With this deduction she began to get up, intent on leaving. Nevertheless, I reached out, my claws securing themselves around her wrist. I pulled her suddenly back down to her knees in one movement that resulted to be a weak motion, yet at the same time still resulted in shocking her.

She looked at me blankly as I ran my claws upon her palm, caught up in my own fascination of looking at mortal skin, and just managing to seek out the faint line of a vein below the membrane.

Inside of me the echoing stirs of the thirst were beginning to develop. For now I ignored such calls to feed.

Her hand I enclosed in my own and rested it upon my chest. I closed my eyes. A fateful scene, easy prey kneeling close to me... Such was the way of fate.

How I delighted myself in thinking of the image of predator and prey lying together in union. The mortals thought themselves innocent, oh and how we – the demonic breed, stole their innocence from them.

Angel and Demon lying together for but a while, such thoughts remained ludicrous but highly delightful in the deep chasm that burnt passionately inside of me.

After a brief awakening rest was demanding to have its way again once more, and who was I to fight it? My eyes remained closed. I listened to the night sounds around us and through darkened thoughts I considered how dangerous it was for me in her being here, though in truth it was dangerous for us both.

On one side of the debate was the fact that this state brought me to my most vulnerable point – if she wished to destroy me, now was the time to do it. On the other side it was dangerous for her, for where would she hide when the hunger inside of be awoke?

As she knelt close to the bed I could smell the scent of her and I wondered deeply once more of how she had managed to get into my chambers. I presumed my chambers would be being guarded due to my sudden susceptibility that change caused.

Once again I thought upon the shocking conclusion that there would be a moment when I would loose control and a sudden thirst would take over – bloodlust, and such was the way of change. So was it wise for the mortal to be in here? What did it matter anyway, it was only a human...

I could no longer hold sway, for before I could act upon my decision I was already within rest once more.

I imagined that I was dreaming. I imagined that I could see the Melchiahim, and the image of that landscape of snow and ice. I imaged the sun yet allowed the image to fade when it became too bright. Most of all I imaged the water. I imaged that I was diving through limitless depths, the coolness of her against me, the gentle darkness of depths far out of the reach of anything living.

Blood. I imagined blood. I imagined that it disturbed the surface of the water, falling elegantly onto the element, ripples parting as the crimson substance kissed the surface.

Deep set within my mind was constant thoughts of Melchiah. I wondered how my brother was faring, how his clan were doing. My faith remained strongly placed upon him... If only I had been there to see him leave...

Moments remained fragmented. In times such as these there seems to be no justification of the passing of time. Moments merge together. Seconds become minutes, minutes become hours, hours become nights, and so forth and so on. Each element of time seems to be bent to the willing intuition of another's, extended to an agonizing length, as if it is that even time likes to see others suffer.

As the night progressed I would awaken every now and then, just for a brief moment, either to acknowledge a sudden burst of hurt, or just to turn over within rest.

The room remained quiet, still and soundless.

The next time I awoke that night it was through the calling of hunger. A strong and most deadly calling it was. The subtle sweetness of the want and need for blood.

With the essence of change, bloodlust is stronger, and it is almost uncontrollable. Above all it consumes you with a passion to sink your teeth into anything that carries the life flow you strongly wish to wildly devour.

The first couple of nights within change normally resulted in gorging oneself full of blood. After this it meant you could withdraw and remain in solitude, deep within rest and not rise again until it was the change had fully occurred. At that moment I had yet to do this, and inside me I naturally knew that I could not rest entirely, could not progress through change properly, until it was I had fed substantially.

Evolution was part of our vampiric existence, always evolving to better ourselves in stages of metamorphosis. The first progressions of evolution were brief moments, quickly accelerated by short periods of where we remained dormant in our chambers. In early days as a vampire such stages would result in one gaining claws, strength, swiftness, anything that would give such a predator as us an advantage over our prey. However, as we progressed, our evolution became more 'grander'.

Understand this – I am a creature of wildness, one of cruelty, of that I will admit. Despite the fact that a majority of times I seem to be quite reserved, that is but one side... Another is to let the true nature of a vampire rage within me. When within the grasps of change, it remains to be the only thing you can do.

The scent of mortality greeted me. I had forgotten the moments before I had fallen into rest, forgotten everything. It did not matter, only one thing remained certain, there was this strong urge for blood.

Bloodlust has a way of smothering you whole, cutting off all senses but the hunger for blood – the need for it and the loneliness, pain and emptiness you feel if you did not swallow the coppery fire of another.

This strong scent of a human that my senses caught a hold of, aroused me deeply. For that sweet scent could soothe the hunger within me. I felt pain no longer; only the hunger, and I wished that my children would come to me, bring me something to feed from.

And through mind I called to them.

I sat bolt upright, a lucid feeling with no control drifted over me. My mood was changing, with every spark of change bore inside me a tempest of emotions followed. Bloodlust had taken control and weakness was forgotten.

Bloodlust many times can be cruel. It can bring us the highest amount of pleasure, and it is through this that we may have eternal existence. Yet like all things there is a price to pay through such. The want and need for blood can be tormenting, it can bring pain as well as anguish. I have seen many fledglings attempt to destroy themselves through the bewilderment of why something that can bring us so much pleasure can also destroy us. Above all, bloodlust remains to be powerful. It can entrap and imprison all those who are not careful of it.

It was bloodlust that ensnared me now, made me its slave. It made me fragile to its will with my overpowering need, even hungrier then usual due to the aspect of change.

The hunger remained to stir powerfully, awakening like it was another creature that dwelled within me. Times like those can make you become blind to everything else but your desire.

The call to my children was still being echoed throughout the threads of whispers, something to sedate this thirst I needed.

As if in answer I found that 'something'.

Upon the floor like something out of the grasps of a dream, a mortal slept. Had my children brought me this young woman and then left so quickly? I was delusional and drunk upon the aspects of change. One thing remained notable; I did not remember the moments before.

Out of my place of rest I climbed, the night air caressing my skin serenely. I placed my bare feet upon the cold stone floor and descended to my knees, allowing myself to stare at the mortal who lay resting there with only but one thought in mind, _her blood._

With hunger at its highest point she infatuated me by my need for her blood. Mesmerised I watched as her chest rose and fell with every breath she took, and the closer I got so her heartbeat seemed to beckon me.

The pull inside me made it so I could resist fighting it no longer. Without hesitation I bent forwards and took her into an embrace, lifting her into my arms before standing. With mortal clasped to my chest greed began to overtake reason.

I remembered her now, as I looked upon her face. I recalled her as some distant thought. Yes, I remembered her. I remembered the servant who had seen to me and served me so willingly. It seemed like some distant memory, it seemed like years ago, though it had been but a couple of hours.

That did not matter, for all that did matter was but to extinguish my pain by extinguishing her life, by feeding me. Her life would sustain mine. And what was she, but some petty mortal?

Lord Kain had told stories of the great vampire Vorador. How he, the great Vorador, had regarded humanity as nothing more than 'brutish cattle' set within Nosgoth to sustain our needs. Was he right? I could not question him; I did not want to, all that I wanted was to feed.

Upon the edge of the bed I sat with this mortal still within my grasps. This mortal stood to be my symbiotic reference to my constant existence. She did not move or even notice that she lay cradled in the arms of a vampire, because gently I had moved her and she still remained to be asleep.

I savoured the moment gracefully, whilst whispering into ear, _"Why attempt to burn my flag so?"_

I recalled the moment where she had been Zephon's victim. I had wondered what fate had intended to do with her, and was this is? That instead of sustaining Zephon she was instead saved to sustain me? The thought was delightful, but I had so many more questions that I wanted to ask her.

"_Why the need to burn my flag, and then serve me so willingly?" _

With my claws I pushed away the strands of hair that were covering her face, and then titled back my head – gasping as the lust began to take a full hold. I could feel my teeth elongating even more so, lengthening to a sharper point then they had been previously, my eyes filling with a darkness so overpowering I feared that it would devour me completely, and somewhere at the back of my mind I discovered that I wanted it to.

I tilted her head to one side and gazed longingly at the location that hid the sustenance my body yearned for.

"_You should have left when you had the chance."_ It was but a whisper into her ear, though not even that awoken her. She was too far-gone in the arms of sleep to awaken to my faint and delusional mutterings.

I bent over her form – which I now clasped to my chest. I nudged back strands of her hair, and then teasingly I rested my mouth upon the skin of her neck – as if to kiss her, nearly piercing the membrane with my canines, hitherto not allowing the blood to yet flow.

Inside lust made me laugh at her folly. What was her loss became my gain. She should never have come to me.


	10. The Taste of Blood and Candle wax

**Nine  
**_The Taste of Blood and Candle wax  
__and The Abbey_

The book lay open before me – its pages torn and scalded around the edges, worn weary from many centuries of water and the remains of damp. It was tattered and frayed, a symbolic object of an item that stood to be a testimony of the passing times.

Oh if only the pages of that book could have uttered, think upon all that they would have said, all those stories of history they could have told.

"The Rahabim may be called upon should –" There was a pause. "Rahab?"

My eyes ran over the words and prose. Unquestionably, mortal hands had woven this book, for the accounts on vampirism were not favourable. I conclude, they wrote about vampirism as if it were something that was a poison of the blood. Alas, if only they knew the true standards of vampirism and what being a vampire meant.

They viewed vampirism as some curse, and though I could see their point of view, I felt inclined to feel that in its absolutism, it was more of a gift. What they said proved to be spoken in moments of worry; to the mortals it was a curse because the immortals overpowered them.

Regardless of how tiring and draining change is, the gift Lord Kain bestowed upon my brethren and I, I have never regretted. I would sooner walk through the path of flame than regret my gift or question Lord Kain's intentions in giving it to me.

It was clear that the hand that had wrought the writing of this book had done so in times when the mortals had been 'powerful' and 'strong' – such irony in words such as those. Yet now they proceed to be little more than a dying breed of ignorance. Our vessels, our servants, they survive only at our own desires ...and yet our own needs... They are here because we allow them to be.

This book –as all books and parchment pieces of that time – was written in their favour, with vampires as the scourge of Nosgoth. Whilst them, they – the victims, attempted to put _'right'_ to what was. To put 'right'? Ah, of course, only the 'right' that they see, the 'right' of what they are led to believe. Mortals remain to be blinded, and their blindness makes them foolish. _I see this now..._

Within the centre of the table there was a small collection of candles; they proved to be the only light within the room, except the slight stream that came from the open doorway.

The flames danced aloft the candles wick, flickering and waving their deadly tongues of the hot element. Meanwhile the light from the room played upon the stone floor, silhouettes gracing their presence every once in a while when it was a fledgling would pass the doorway.

Upon my face I could feel the shadows that formed, embracing my features – the equalisation and unfaltering contrast of the darkness and the light.

For a moment I looked up from my book and glanced at Raziel. My mind did not acknowledge his presence at first, despite the fact that it had been I who had greeted him, and I who had placed the chalice before him. And I, now completely submersed in an overwhelming knowledge of written history wrought by mortal hands, I was showing a rare moment of conceit. In truth, Raziel had been forgotten to me.

The forgotten figure picked up his chalice and glanced at the contents – the last dregs of blood – before bringing it to his lips and finishing it off in one dignified swallow.

Distantly I watched Lord Kain's first son. At the same time I considered the theory of how it is history is always written, written by those who are the conquerors. As for those who remain to be unsuccessful on the ongoing quest of domination, well you never hear their voices. In their deaths so the history of the winners silence them. The looses are left to the dusts of time, consumed and twisted; only existing in the minds of those who remember them.

In the depths of my own mind I recalled fragments of that theory, elements of when I had first heard someone say how history was, and how it was always going to be written. The memory however, is not complete and above all it is broken and fractured, though I can still recall the words...

"_History is always written by the victors – and Rahab, in all accounts that is what we are, the victors, the vanquishers. Bah, let us not question this, why question it? Time runs within our favour, and it will always be that way. Your helm, loyal Knight..."_

Now it was _us_ – the vampires, who were the successors. We would write history how it was intended to be written – with the will of Lord Kain to guide of words.

"Rahab?"

Raziel's voice felt intrusive within my mind. It pierced the thin and delicate membrane of my thoughts, my thoughts that wanted nothing more than silence.

We sat at one of my tables in the main hall of my dwelling. It had been two nights ago that I had submerged from my chambers having gone through change. Four nights and it had ended, concluding that this particular moment of metamorphosis had been brief.

The changes themselves were small. For four nights of being locked away I did not have a lot of evidence to show for a bout of evolution. Outside I remained the vampire I had been nights before; nevertheless, it was my senses that had gained... Though one began to suffered more...

Light was to forever to hunt me, hound me for the betrayal that I had acted centuries ago, when I had first turned my back upon her. My progression in evolution would continue, and with each fated step, the weaker to light I became.

For her act – the servant – in seeing to the hunter she was to receive a most callous reward. I denied her heart the right to continue throughout the realms of immortality. Instead I quelled it to an aspect of quietness, though not silence.

I could have crushed her essence and then brought her back as one of my own, if I had wanted to. But the aspect of power is all too delightful, especially on the accounts of bloodlust. In that area I can be just as cruel and cold as Zephon. You see – I am not as gentle as I may be perceived. Like Turel I can loom and seem as unmoving as a shadow. Yet, I am always watching, and wait in silenced judgement, going in for the final strike when others least expect it.

The doors to my chambers had opened just as the blood had entered my mouth. The provoking taste of crimson had teased my taste buds as my tongue had begun to lap upon her life's flow. I was adjoined to her through this connection, and some of her thoughts spilled over into my mind. Nevertheless, I was not being my usual self and took little heed of what I had to learn from her.

Profound moments like this placate all thoughts, one where the hunter is close to its prey, and secretly we worship their heartbeats. Why – because the heart is the one important organ that keeps the bloodstream flowing.

Blood, just blood, and to feed, that is all I wanted, that is all my body demanded. Could I not just give it that?

My senses and rationality were torn by what this lust for blood demanded of me, and if I did not do what it demanded, then torment would only follow. Though I admit in truth that I did not want to disobey this lust. Why should I but remain entirely loyal to it? This lust that made me better off, this lust derived from the gift Lord Kain had bestowed upon me.

Foolish, _foolish_ mortal. She should have indeed gone when she had the chance.

I rocked and lulled her gently within my grasp, muttering those words of 'foolish' with every spill of blood. It was an utmost caring gesture, one that could have been shown in a compassionate moment. Intimate it was, but her lover I was not. For though I caressed her skin greedily, with each draw of breath – I drew upon her life.

We remained adjoined for a small while, like two threads of fundamental nature interlocking within each other. Wound around the intermingled boundaries of fatality, we were two sculptures both representing either poles of the spectrum of providence.

Fate had spared her from that moment with Zephon so that I could be the one to take her. And so we waltzed within her requiem, whilst her heart stuttered and anticipated the final strike, the final moment when I would take it all.

I would crush the core and capture every lost drop, absorb the hub and the heat that flowed from there.

'_Humans are here for this purpose; they are given life to serve us... Their lives, their life flow belongs to us, and we may choose to do what we wish with it, however we wish to spend it... They are ours...'_ Inside I was laughing deeply with those thoughts. How concerted and single-minded this hunger in change made me

A small congregation of candles flickered upon the sideboard, standing like some omniscient watchers. Shadows became cast upon the floor, and I looked up to see three of my fledglings standing there.

Silently as the night they had come – my children, creeping over the horizons of time and answering my long distant calls. They made me pause my assault upon her life's flow.

Fascinated by their sudden appearance, I watched the shade dance upon my children's features, whilst I could feel a trickle of blood escape the edge of my lips and descend down my chin. Between them they had brought me something more, something that would make this hunger retreat.

In my grasp the servant distantly began to stir, an unconscious moment of movement. To me, she had now been forgotten. To my mind and the ongoing call of lust for blood she was instantly unimportant. With that thought I released my grip upon her and allowed her lifeless body to drop onto the bed.

Automatically I reached out for them. Forget all dignity and honour, for none can be found in a moment such as this, all is forgotten.

I was embraced, and in the intermingle that became I was conscious of one hundred thoughts, the respiration of my clan, the callings and the feelings and our desire for that one element. How can one describe the moments that followed? Decadent. Decadent these moments were, to which the night waned on moments of just drinking, embraced in the grasps of my own.

And so my children offered it to me – fresh crimson blood, all that I could want, all that I could desire, and all I could take. It filled me, satisfying my body with such a feeling that the living would never be able to appreciate, for they feel it all the time – and it is only this feeling that I envy them for. A feeling I cherish, the feeling of life channelling its way through my lifeless senses, nourishing with ever drop.

The heat of life consumes. In this shell that was my body so the blood of the living embraces my decayed and broken soul. With every drop so the life of another fortifies the chains of my body that anchor my essence firm into this breathing corpse, though it breathes without a reason.

I gasped and took in more of the element, drawing it in slowly so that I could prolong the warmth for a little longer. The warmth entered my mouth and made its way down my body, breathing its warmness into my limbs, animating frigid skin. _This was everything..._ Everything I was driven by was for this moment, and everything I existed for was highlighted by this need, a need that I could not be without.

Within the peek of the instant I gave in fully to my desire, surrendering to the sweetness of the lust, retreating back onto the bed, and collapsing between the blankets. The blood drove an exhilarating element into my own decrepit veins, strengthening and fortifying myself, the weakness pushed firmly away.

Finally I had had enough, enough substance within me to allow myself to withdraw, to rest and not awaken until change had occurred fully.

I stretched. The sheets around me were highlighted in pools of crimson. Corrupt and ruddy, the element of mortal life ate away at the dull white of the sheets, as like I devoured life so this textile absorbed the relics.

I turned and noticed the servant's body still lying inertly, blankets folded underneath her.

In the oncoming moment of rest, as it slowly drifted over my body, I kept my eyes upon her. I felt overwhelming contentment. Was she dead, and was it in my arms that she had died? I remember no more.

"Will the Rahabim be ready should they be needed?" The chalice was now back in front of Raziel, whilst in a noble gesture he gently wiped away any remains of his beverage that may have lingered upon his lips. He frowned when he noticed that he still did not have my full attention.

"Rahab, the Rahabim?"

"_Yes." _'Twas a faint whisper, a trail of my own thoughts, and not an altogether answer to Raziel's questions.

What was I saying yes to? In honesty I was not entirely sure. I had heard Raziel's voice, as well as the words that had left him and the vocals they were fashioned in, but I had not heard the full statements he had spoken.

"I wonder. Will their lord be ready?"

"There is something about this..." My claws lay resting underneath the sentence I had just read so that I did not loose my place of reading from the book.

"Some of this speaks of the Abbey..." I chuckled and carried on to read out loud. "Used in moments of our defence as well as..." The words became lost in my own muttering – it was apparent that this conversation was being held between myself and only myself.

"_Like the ruins of the Sarafan Stronghold..." _I muttered, again to myself.

Without warning the Razielim Lord's hands shot forwards. With such he took the book promptly from me and turned it around to face him.

Raziel glanced at the pages with only mild interest before swiftly flipping through the next couple and then finally flicking it to a close, resting his claws on the leather bound covers.

"I regret the time that I ever mentioned this Abbey to you. You are so close to wanting it as yours."

I paused before replying "Mine?"

"Do not play games Rahab, I know what goes through your mind. Turel has his own land claim, as do I. Zephon already has his eyes set on the Cathedral – and do you, like the rest of us, not want for the same?"

I considered the question, though I wished not to speak of my own desires. Desires can make one obsessive that much is truth, and so I avoided speaking about my desires and myself altogether.

Our conversation continued to which we spoke of history and debated its many concepts – though I did most of the debating and Raziel half-listened – only mildly interested – whilst resting his chin upon the back of his hand. Talk about history however, was always best spent in the company of Turel.

From our conversations, the rekindling of another memory – a memory that I cannot place anywhere within the timeframe of my vampiric lifetime – was stirred. But it is not something I will speak about at this time.

Talking about history with Raziel – even if he was not entirely interested in such – was... _'pleasant'_. In truth it was a welcome relief, for past months all we had seemed to ever speak about was the 'taming of the Humans' – as Dumah liked to put it.

Nevertheless, like most things, our discussion brought us full circle, and before long our conversation became lost amidst the talk of vampiric advancement and the affairs of the clans – something Raziel keenly discussed with me, as it became apparent he felt as if he was on familiar conversational territory here.

The mention of the clans and the ongoing battles between mortality and us, brought me to think upon the Melchiahim. I worried for our youngest. Since he had left we had heard nothing from the clan.

I rested my chin upon one hand, whilst the other rested listlessly upon the table – a claw twitching instinctively every so often.

We had received no message back from the Melchiahim. We had no idea of what was happening within the lands Melchiah had been sent to, and Zephon was swift to whisper to his clan that a mistake had been made.

I had contemplated upon whether to send some of my own clan forth. However, I had decided against this idea when I thought about how Melchiah would feel if I was to do this.

Indeed, how would he feel if his older brother was to send forth some of his own clan? That in Melchiah's moment of glory he would suddenly notice a legion of Rahabim coming forth out of the night as nothing more than 'unneeded reinforcements'.

If I was to do that then what did that show in the faith I had placed upon him? Of course the idea of my faith within Melchiah was conflicted with the idea of what if something _had_ happened. The nights I had regarded such thoughts I had simply turned towards my own archives, deciding against dwelling on such terrible thoughts any longer.

Before Melchiah had left I had told him that I had placed my faith in him, as had Lord Kain. Now I made myself promise that I would not go against what I had said to him. Indeed, my faith in him was strong.

"Your mind is not on this."

"Forgive me Raziel, I mean not to be impolite. I thought that I had..."

Raziel's eyes narrowed, he knew that this was unlike me. He leant back in his chair and brought his claws to his chin, where he continued to rest them and study me through one of his scrutinising gazes.

"Rahab." His voice was firm and demanding, a fierce edge hinted throughout the vocals. "Tell me, what preoccupies my brother's mind so much that is unable to concentrate?"

"'Tis nothing, Raziel, I promise you."

In truth it was a variety of things, mainly tiredness of change, the torn elements of my soul feeling listless. It can take a couple of nights for you to regain the same vigour that you beheld before change.

Needless to say, I preferred to spend nights afterwards recuperating with only the fleeting visits from my children as company – not speaking of battle strategies, and only leaving my quarters if Lord Kain or one of the elder brethren requested it so. In such times I read more and rested in fitful intervals. Of course this created a deep wanting of solace.

"'Nothing' would see the normal Rahab listening intently to his brother's words. Nothing would see the normal Rahab offering advice, sitting silently yet listening and watching always. This is not the Rahab I see now."

To such a statement I did not reply. No more was said and Raziel merely grunted to himself acknowledging that he was right in what he had said and knowing that I knew the same.

When the moments passed into silence I watched the flames flicker upon the wicks of the candles. Moments later we were interrupted. A Razielim lingered in the doorway until it was I permitted them entrance, beckoning to them with a gesture of claws.

She bent next to Raziel and whispered something into her lord's ear. I noticed at once that Raziel's eyes narrowed and his eyebrows descended into a frown – though a smirk was painted clearly upon his lips. A storm was gathering within the Razielim Lord, of that much I was certain.

"My apologies Rahab, if you will please excuse me." He stood and glanced at his child, resting a set of claws upon her shoulder. "A dispute between my own and that of Dumah's has arisen. I must depart."

He left without another word and I became a victim to the silence. Not that I minded silence. I allowed it to feed from me, to draw upon the quietness of my soul, to contemplate and regard. Silence, and me, we were one – both predators and yet a desire to have others near by.

From where Raziel had sat I snatched up the book and turned to the page I had been considering in his presence. The page opposite the one I had read from had arcane drawings delicately displayed on the parchment.

The diagrams displayed the working system of a mechanism mortals used to use for protection. It showed that in times of peril they used to flood certain areas of their strongholds with water – thus protecting them from those who would attack them from outside. A defence such as this one made such strongholds supposedly impenetrable – especially to their enemies that might have been weak against water.

Well this was certainly something to think upon.

The page I regarded, like the book, was worn and decaying, the pictures themselves had almost faded. A sufferer of time – this book – one who had been wounded deeply, like us all.

Soon enough I placed the book down and turned my attention to the candles on the table.

At the whim of my own I languidly selected a candle. As I picked up the candle and turned it to one side, I allowed the wax to drip and scar the table's surface. For but a few seconds the wax remained liquefied. Then under my watchful gaze it hardened itself. No longer a liquid but instead a solid. Strangely I found this act of interest.

Whilst the candle wax remained a hot liquid it would scar us – scar both mortal or vampire skin for it was in the substances nature to do so, like it was in ours to drink blood.

I paused and stood the candle up once more.

Whilst regarding the wax I selected a claw and dug it deep into the dry wax, mortally wounding it. With a continued lazy mannerism so I picked the 'scab' from my table's surface.

The whole deed of such a thing had been done as a gesture and ritual of my own thoughts. With each mannerism so my mind had been working upon thought after thought.

There was one thought that was dominant – a battle strategy.

Outside the rain fell.

I tilted my head to one side and listened intently to the gentle voice of water. The soft patter of the skies tears beckoned my ears to listen. It was mellow and placid in its forth coming, and then eventually it became a riot of thunderous drops. Even the drops of rain, I considered, evolved to become something much more powerful.

Leaving that room I descended into another and pushed back the veils that hung in front of the window. Composed and unmoving I watched as the rain fell, each drop bringing an element of thought.

"_The Mortals are aware of our weaknesses Rahab_." Raziel had said in the midst of our conversation.

"_We must be one step ahead and always prepared. They are beginning to fall, but would it not be irony if so close to a victory we were to let down our defences?"_

In being one step ahead I had already considered how the mortals would fall. But I also knew something else.

The mortals would retreat; it was in their nature to do so. It is in this nature that they are not so different from us, though of course we are more powerful than them.

Not only are we linked to mortals by the prey and predator connection, but also the element and need to survive no matter what, and regardless of the cost. All we awaited was something to trigger this chain reaction, something to trigger the last moment and the pinnacle of the last battle – the battle that would decide the fate of mortals. Knowing they were upon their last breaths, the mortals would withdraw. Already they were doing so.

All through the chronicles of history this 'need' of surviving the threat of being made extinct had been displayed throughout, in both races of immortal and mortal.

With the necessity of survival they _would_ retreat. This motion set deep within their minds triggered a reaction that had the equalisation of the fact that they had a strong advantage over us. They knew, as Raziel had stated, of our weaknesses and they would retreat to a place they knew would take them far out of our reaches.

It would be a place they had always held, a place that we had never been able to penetrate, a place near the deadliest of our weaknesses – the one that would destroy us completely.


	11. His Loss

**Ten  
**_His Loss_

The blade of his sword grated along the edge of my halberd.

I turned, rapidly stepping sideward and switched the halberd to my opposite hand, brandishing forth my claws in hope of catching him off guard. Unfortunately it did not work and Dumah has always proved to be the better warrior.

There was a stultify pain as the hilt of his sword came thundering into my side.

I grunted, suddenly winded, and fell back whilst Dumah's laughter rang throughout his courtyard.

The stone floor was cold and hard beneath me. I pushed some strands of hair out of my eyes and gazed impassively at my brother who towered over me.

"Your defence is lacking," he said, and offered me a clawed hand. Behind him I could hear the clapping of his own children who had stopped to watch us. There were some standing on the outer edge of the courtyard and some sitting upon the steps. Regardless of where they were seated or standing all eyes were on us.

His sword he lifted up to his face, and with a look of understanding he checked the sword's blade, flicking it over and over in his hands. Content that his newly forged weapon was fit for use and had not been damaged in our little skirmish, he glanced over at the vampire who had made it and nodded in what was serious approval.

"Again." Dumah said, taking up a fighting stance.

Within the grasps of night, a vampire such as him looked deadly. The sword that he gripped confidently within his claws only added to his ominous presence, and his looming appearance was enough to make the most confidant of warriors – whether mortal or immortal, shy away.

I took a deep breath of air and beckoned to the halberd through mind. As I did, so it left the ground and swiftly planted itself within my grasp. Telekinesis was useful in many ways.

I closed my eyes. My mind was drawn to a particular fighting method that ran throughout my thoughts like an ancient reminiscence that had long been forgotten. I recalled a memory and imagined that Dumah and me were clad in the finest armour, and that we fought side by side. Where that fragmented and far-away memory came from – at that time – I simply did not know.

Aim for his weakest point – that was my strategy. Dumah was broad and overpowering, his methods of fighting were deadly at a majority of times. Yet even the weakest warrior may overcome the strongest titan if he should know where to strike. I smiled inwardly and prepared myself, unemotionally gazing at my older brother.

"My lord."

There was a voice that came from behind Dumah just as he moved forwards quickly in the advancement of attack.

Instinct took control. I moved rapidly, ducking deep below the swing of his sword. The blade of the sword hurtled over my head. I heard it cutting through the air knowing full well that at any moment such a movement could grace my own skin. Dumah would not hesitate in his attack, even if he were only practice duelling with one of his own brothers.

As I straightened myself I brought forth my weapon and took a swipe at Dumah. I missed my intended target, as Dumah promptly moved; nevertheless, the halberd's blade caught his bare chest, slicing skin.

Our weapons clashed as either of us blocked the advancing attack of the other. The wound I had inflicted upon Dumah hindered him not, in fact it had already nearly healed. His blade grinded over the midsection of the halberd.

I pulled the halberd back out of the reach of that biting blade, swinging swiftly and bringing up the other end, blades glinting in the fatal light of flaming torches and fitful moonlight.

"My Lord Dumah."

The Dumahim was unrelenting, this message had to be one of importance. Dumah, on the other hand, was in no mood to be bothered. He snarled and took another angry blow in my direction. This time his aim was true and the blade of his sword gleefully bit through a part of my upper arm that was not protected.

The expression on Dumah's face said it all.

In his anger he turned in fury upon his child. "Whelp of a vampire, can you not see that I am not to be disturbed?" His voice was at a deadly growl and I knew that he blamed the youngling for his lack of concentration, and supposedly my own.

The vampire winced at his lord's anger. "My lord, I have a message for you."

Dumah snorted, "It can wait."

This did not silence his child as he had probably hoped it would. The vampire simply glanced at me and then back at Dumah.

"It is from lord Raziel."

Silence in the courtyard.

Dumah turned his back on myself and the other vampire, whilst it was he walked to the other side of the yard. He glanced at the blade of the sword once more and then he ran it along the edge of a low wall. The sound of metal scraping over solid stone echoed.

Dumah's weapon smith approached from behind. He stood next to the Dumahim Lord, as it was Dumah placed the sword into his claws and nodded once again with authorization. I watched these mannerisms mutely before turning to look at the vampire who had come with a message he was so eager to pass on.

As the weapon smith left, carrying the sword with him, Dumah focussed his actions upon sharpening his claws – running them along the stonework of the wall. I stood, politely waiting, hands clasped behind my back.

The night had started freshly. As soon as I had awoken I had risen only to linger near the cliffs over looking the Lake of the Dead. Razielim flags indicating the entrance to Raziel's land blew feverishly upon the currents of a rather strong breeze.

Cascading waterfalls and the overall smell and sound of what would eventually become my element, mesmerized me. To see such breathtaking scenery such as this delighted my soul, but this was a place I did not visit all that often.

True, to look down from cliffs upon high at the swirling water of the Lake of the Dead was a moment of true awe-inspiring vista. But this was a place of execution. It was here that those not worthy, and those that were traitors were omitted and thrown forth into the gaping maw of the Abyss.

It was a place I came to when I wished to refresh my mind, to linger upon the currents of her watery voice before moving on. But it was only then did I come to the Lake of the Dead. Other times I merely passed it by, whilst attempting to ignore her call.

It was after a stay here that I went off to feed and then to see Dumah. I had found him in a courtyard duelling with his children, and berating those who were not up to standard in a harsh tone. Dumah always expected the utmost best from his children.

I had taken an interest in one of the halberds that the weapon smith had been holding. Afterwards Dumah and me had started a duel of our own – him determined to show his skills off to those of his clan.

"I am assured that this is a fine weapon," Dumah had stated, taking the halberd off its creator and running a hand over one of the blades. I had to admit; it _did_ look like a fine weapon - its sharp blades created from the finest metal.

"Would the Rahabim lord care to test it," said he with a confident smirk, allowing his sharp canines to show.

I may enjoy being surrounded by long forgotten books and weathered parchment and worn-out maps and long forgotten knowledge, but like my brothers, I also enjoy a good skirmish every now and then.

How could I refuse such an offer?

It was a chance to practise, something I admit in those past few weeks, I had been neglecting.

We came to an agreement that the duel would be hand-to-hand combat only; no dark gifts used. Had I not readied myself and showed Dumah that I was ready to fight, then no doubts the Dumahim Lord would have explained verbosely that he had no real need to use any dark gifts, for he could win a battle on strength alone. I have never doubted this, and as I have said often times, Dumah was quite the warrior, a Knight of times past.****

Yet I am afraid that Dumah sometimes allowed such facts to go to his head. Foolish is he that allows such to happen, for the foolish drunkard prospers off egotism – their finest wine. Even more foolish are those who think they are the strongest vampire. We all have our weaknesses, _of that I know personally._

"Go on, speak." Dumah said after a while, approaching the vampire who had brought the message and giving him the permission he needed to speak.

The vampire hesitated for a second. "A message from Lord Raziel, sire," he said after going down on one knee before his lord. "The Melchiahim have returned."

The message brought words that I had waited for what felt like an eternity to hear, and with that, I felt my lips automatically curve themselves into a smile.

So Melchiah had returned? What news, for how eager I was to hear my little brother speak of the Melchiahim task, how it had gone, what had happened, and whether the crusade had been successful.

Dumah stood as still as stone, merely blinking at the vampire, as if his child had said nothing at all.

"So soon?"

I could not help but hear the slight sneer within Dumah's voice.

"Not soon enough." he retorted harshly, defying anyone to think that the first words he had spoken had been ones in gladness. It seemed Dumah was still bitter from Melchiah being sent and not he.

I on the other hand, refused to be so cold. "And Melchiah, is he well?"

The vampire looked upon me. Some hair from his fringe fell over one of his eyes, and with his claws he swiftly pushed the strands away.

"Lord Rahab, I do not know." He shifted within his stance suddenly aware that Dumah was glaring at him. "Lord Raziel asked me to pass the message forth."

"And so you have." I smiled at him and saw a flicker of curiosity within his eyes. He was not used to such consideration.

The vampiric messenger waited but a moment longer, awaiting Dumah to dismiss him. When Dumah did he left without another word.

With our session of duelling now over, the courtyard began to empty. Fledglings and the older Dumahim returned to whatever duties they were attending to in the first place without another thought.

I glanced around surveying the area, the tall stonewalls, the cold iron bar gates. The Dumahim flags wilted restlessly upon their poles.

"It is a fine weapon," I said to Dumah, whilst placing the halberd within his claws.

"It is swift, and extremely well crafted."

I ran my hand along the edge of one of the blades that adorned the end of the halberd.

"But you might want to get your weapon smith to reduce the size of this blade." I looked at him pointedly and returned his unyielding gaze. "In its current state, this blade makes the halberd a little... _unbalanced._"

I satisfyingly turned on my heel, smirked, and began to exit the courtyard.

"Rahab!" Dumah called. "Where is it you are going?"

"To welcome back Melchiah," I replied without the slightest bit of thought.

)-(

It was raining. I remember the rain, what it felt like for the first time when it was I discovered that water no longer posed a threat – that instead she embraced me. I remember how I would watch the rainfall; rain falling in the night can create such a scene. I would sit there sometimes, drag a chair to an open window and listen to the rain falling upon the ground.

It was raining the night that I went to see Melchiah after his return.

I stood in the corridor, hidden from those talking in the chamber. The one door to the chamber was open whilst the other remained closed; it was by this door that I stood. The rain could be heard pelting against the windows, and I continued to stand listening to those who spoke in the main hall of the Melchiahim abode.

"The Melchiahim were successful?"

That voice belonged to Zephon; I narrowed my eyes upon hearing it.

How strange that Zephon should arrive to greet Melchiah before I. Had he been that eager for his younger brother's return? I was sceptical of such; for all I could conclude about Zephon was that he merely tolerated Melchiah.

"Had the Zephonim been there..."

I heard someone grunt in what seemed like a stifled gasp of pain, and then the clatter of something falling to the stone floor.Intently I listened to the sound of whatever had hit the floor and echo around the hall. With my head tilted to one side I wondered what it was had been discarded so harshly to one side.

"Zephon be silent. Melchiah be still."

That voice was unmistakably Turel's as he told Zephon to be quiet, and Melchiah – for one reason or another – to hold still.

"You mean to say you worry for another other then yourself? Come now, Zephon, that is unlike you." Unmistakable was the voice of Raziel.

Zephon – in response, merely hissed,"But this – this is an insult to _us..._"

"Have the ones who have done this been dealt with?"

"_Yes,"_ came Melchiah's reply as something else clattered to the floor.

The room became silent of voices; meanwhile one could hear the drops of rain and the reverberating echoes of whatever it had been that Turel had once again thrown to the floor.

And from Melchiah's simple word of 'yes' I could tell that there had been pain.

Why the talk of perpetrators, why did our youngest sound like he was in pain? What had happened whilst our youngest had been away from the eyes of the brethren?

I leant against the wall of the corridor, running my claws through strands of my unbound hair in a guilty mannerism, whilst an assortment of terrible thoughts struck my mind.

Was Melchiah hurt? It was I who had volunteered his clan forth. Any injury that he had sustained would be of my fault. If I had not been at the beginning of change then I would not have hesitated to have taken up the task.

The thoughts were tormenting. Melchiah had been chosen to go by our lord, and I was not permitted to question his choice, not that I ever would. Lord Kain – the one who I have bound my life, no my very soul, Lord Kain who saved us from ourselves.

"Why do you linger in the doorway, Rahab?"

I was jerked out of thought upon hearing my name. I had not expected anyone to know that I lingered out of view in the corridor.

There were footsteps upon the stone floor, and then the door of the main chamber was pushed open.

"You make the place look untidy – standing there in the corridor like some abandoned corpse," Raziel stated with dry sarcasm, good humour, and the beginning traces of a smirk present on his lips. But I did not return the smile. Instead I regained my stance and strode forwards, entering the chamber, and walking past Raziel.

No one took real notice of me. Turel was bending down retrieving a broken staff. It was apparent that this was no doubt what I had heard being thrown aside. Zephon glanced at me whilst leaning against the edge of a table, his arms folded against his chest. The gaze was one typical of Zephon, a lazy look of a vicious, yet at that time, contented hunter.

Melchiah was sitting in a chair. He was slouching in the seat, resting one arm on the armrest whilst the other he held out to three Melchiahim. I looked upon his face searching out emotion. We had been taught from fledglings that to show pain was to show weakness, but every now and than, despite ourselves, we all allowed it to show.

His face was blank though every so often I would see the pain embellish his face. He would grimace, his eyebrows set deep in a frown, and his teeth gritted.

I noticed that upon the floor next to the chair lay Melchiah's once clean, yet now blemished armour. His clan drape was tattered and stained with...

With revelation my eyes darted from the blooded drape to that of the blood on the chair – a crimson scar upon fabric that would never again be clean. Blood, blood upon Melchiah's skin and then the decomposing and decaying skin that was peeled back from the side of his body. This was what that grim weapon had done to my brother Melchiah.

Another vampire of Melchiah's blocked my view as he attempted to tend to such a grotesque infliction. Meanwhile, as it was I approached I was witness to what damage had been done to the arm that the three Melchiahim had gathered around.

Melchiah's damaged gauntlets had been ripped off and thrown to the floor; they too were covered in blood. The skin wilted from his arm and they, his children, with all their dedication to him, were attempting to try and hold it, if not fix it back into place.

Such was the delicate membrane of our youngest and weakest, Melchiah. So fragile was his body compared to that of the rest of us, that a weapon inflicted in the right place could cause such damage as this. If any other of Lord Kain's children would received a wound such as this, then yes, it would have hurt us, but we had no worry of loosing any of our skin like Melchiah did.

In time Melchiah and his children would find a way to compensate for the loss of their skin that their bodies were unable to hold onto – through stealing the skin of others. A grotesque act, one fit for scavengers, but what else could they do? Their fragile bodies demanded it of them.

"Rahab," came Melchiah's voice as he took notice of me for the first time. He glanced at his arm and the Melchiahim gathered around him as if he was ashamed.

"Hello Melchiah."

He stared at the others and then at me, before bringing his unharmed hand to his face, covering his eyes with his claws. Was this done in distress?

"No one should be seeing me like this."

"Nonsense," replied Turel in a firm tone, whilst looking at the pieces of the broken weapon.

The weapon was broken in half, and blooded pieces of fractured blade still lay fragmented on the floor.

"We have seen you in a far worse state," Zephon snorted.

The door the other side of the room was suddenly opened, dispelling light into the chamber from another corridor.

Two Melchiahim stumbled in carrying something between them. There was quite a scuffle and I realised, as they came through the doorway, that they were bringing a mortal with them.

The mortal was bound at the wrist and ankles by chains. They were male, neither young nor old, and putting up rather a fight. They looked quite the bedraggled figure with their tangled hair and tattered clothes. Of course the sight of a struggling mortal being held firm by two vampires – like a fly caught in a spider's web – was more than enough to interest the Zephonim Lord and harvest his attention.

I looked to Zephon, knowing that from seeing this scene a devious glint would be running throughout his eyes, and a dangerous smirk would now be placed upon his lips. How right I was.

How he delighted himself in tormenting humanity. How he delighted himself now within this scene. How he approached the struggling mortal, walking forwards, dominating in his stance with every step he took. Oh and how he made sure his shadow loomed on every piece of floor that was not already shadowed, and how his shadow dominated those areas that were.

"_Kind sir..."_

The Mortal lifted his head, mattered hair falling over his eyes. His fear gave way to the exhaustion of desperation, and no longer could he fight. There was a certain pleading in his voice that only breaks through when all other chances or options are quashed.

"Kind?" Zephon's eyes flared slightly in malice, his eyebrows arched, and he laughed bitterly. "Kind. I never said I was kind." He chuckled again, sneering at such a word as 'kind'. "Kind. Foolish are those who think that I am."

Zephon hissed and smiled, drawing himself up to his full height and wrapping a hand around one of the mortals arms. "Sweet Mortal, a honour it is for you to help my little brother when he is in so much need of ..._substance..._"

The Zephon Lord reached out for and took a hold of one of the chains that had dragged along upon the floor.

"Come," he said. "Come walk with me." And he pulled the mortal closer to him with those words.

As Zephon approached Melchiah with the mortal, I watched the mortal's reaction. Within Zephon's presence he had almost become limp, perhaps overpowered by the Zephonim Lord's dominance. His own shadow appeared to shy away from that of Zephon's. I have seen this happen to mortals many times.

The mortal looked to each one of the lords in turn. It was his last act, his last plea for help. But what did he expect off us? Were we not the Vampire Lords that his kind had feared for so long? All we could do was return his gaze with emotionless and blank faces as cold and unkind to him as their hunters were to our children.

Melchiah sat up in his chair with the notion of blood. The hunger and the desperation of such were written keenly within his eyes. There was a great need behind that look. Peculiar in a way, for both mortal and vampire had this strong desperation, which was apparent in them both. Both with the desperation of survival, the mortal in desperation for his life as was the vampire – highlighted with his desperation for blood.

There was no struggling now, and I have often thought upon whether Zephon truly had the power to stun his prey so that they remained still. Whatever it was he often had power over them. I have seen mortals have the same reaction with Raziel, how captivated they are by him, and how frightened. Maybe it is how we all affected them.

The mortal descended to his knees under the surprisingly gentle guidance of Zephon.

The moments upon Melchiah realising and reacting to the offer of blood were quick. Melchiah simply and swiftly snatched his arm away from his children, and then he leant forwards and brought the mortal into an embrace.

In return the mortal accepted Melchiah's embrace.

I knew what happened in the moments afterwards – the excitement of your teeth piercing skin and then the exhilarating and intoxicating taste of blood as you draw it into you. The warmth it gives you, ones such as we embrace openly. It is the only warmth we feel, it is the only warmth we know of.

Raziel turned to Turel, both regarding the weapon that had pierced Melchiah's skin, whilst it was Melchiah fed. I, on the other hand, looked to Zephon as if wanting an explanation. With eyebrows knitted in a frown so it was I studied him.

Zephon had willingly given up a mortal he could have quite easily fed from himself. It was unusual for him to miss out on an opportunity to feed.

I concluded my thoughts, suspecting that Zephon had freely given up a feed because it had given him a chance to taunt a mortal, to intimidate them. More so perhaps it was because with three of his elder brethren close by, there was not a chance that he would get away with stealing a feed.

Melchiah's right hand ran through the mortal's hair in what seemed a soothing gesture. His left hand supported the mortal's back, holding the limp body up to stop it from slipping and falling to the floor.

It seemed Melchiah was very hungry, and it was no surprise considering the wound he had endured. He fed quickly; only pausing now and then to savour the taste, until it was the Melchiahim within the room came to take the body away. Afterwards more blood was offered. Melchiah would need all the blood he could take in to heal a wound such as that.

Hours after duelling with Dumah, anyone looking for the Rahabim Lord would have found him residing in one of the Melchiahim halls.

I sat in a chair by the fire, a book from Melchiah's small collection perched on my lap. Thankfully the only light within the room was from the fire, though every now and then I would even turn away from that.

Not far away and at a table, a small gathering of Melchiahim sat discussing some affair of the clan and the newly claimed land. They kept their voices low so as not to disturb the lords whose company they distantly kept.

Opposite me Melchiah lay out on a divan. The injured arm lay next to him, whilst the other hung over the edge of the divan, his claw tips lightly touching the floor. Gazing up from the book I watched as his chest rose and fell with the habit of breathing.

I marvelled at the wounds he had carried, the new parts of graphed skin merging with his own. The skin that had been damaged his body had not been able to sustain, and so it had fallen away. Regarding such I glanced at my own wounds that I had received in duelling with Dumah. All that remained now was a faint scar... How small it was compared to Melchiah's, and how quickly it had healed.

From such wounds Melchiah had looked grotesquely decrepit. He looked like the corpse of a warrior who had died in battle and had been newly raised as a vampire. But the wounds did heal, though slowly and painfully, and the fresh blood that channelled its way through Melchiah's body helped.

It was a relief that the staff had wounded Melchiah where it had. I am afraid that had they overwhelmed my brother and managed to impale him properly, then the Melchiahim Lord would have been lost to us.

Flicking the book to a close I rested one set of claws on top, whilst the other hand rested upon the arm of the chair. I slouched low into the seat for comfort and threw my feet upon another chair close by. Meanwhile the Melchiahim we had shared the hall with, got up – bored of their discussion, and left the hall.

We remained this way for a while, peaceful – Melchiah in what I thought was rest, and me just beginning to doze – my eyes closing slightly.

The rain outside had stopped, but I could hear the distant dripping of droplets of water elsewhere in the abode.

A draft blew through the hall and somewhere else I heard a door slam. The zephyr rattled around in the corridor outside, and the dripping of water could still be heard in what felt like a tormenting mannerism.

Perhaps the sound of dripping water did not really exist; maybe it only existed in my mind as that constant echoing sound. The echoing of madness? Possibly. Though the sound of dripping water was enough to send the sanest creature in the opposite direction of the spectrum, thus sending them into a spiralling madness.

"Rahab? What troubles you?"

I opened my eyes, surprised at seeing that Melchiah was awake. He was still lying down but his eyes were now fully open and he was gazing intently at me.

I sat up, swinging my feet down off the other chair and placed them on the floor.

At first I gave my attention to the floor, gazing at it, examining the segments of stone. There was so much to tell, so much to say... Alas, I concluded, I was thinking too much. Why could I not be as free thinking as the others? Why could I not just forget all worries and just focus upon what was...

But these worries, these problems, my thoughts... they were _mine._ It was not out of spite for Melchiah but a simple desire of my own that I wanted to keep all these thoughts and worries to myself. I had no desire to share them with anyone else, brethren or not.

There was one thing nevertheless, that had rested upon my mind heavily since I had last seen Melchiah. And now this one thing had been increased, ripened upon seeing Melchiah wounded.

"Melchiah, forgive me..." I stopped speaking, leaning on the arms of the chair, bent over like the figure of some decadent king. "I was not there to see you and your clan leave_."_

From Melchiah's silence I knew that this had not been what he had expected me to say. Perchance he had expected me to speak of some long, dark problem that weighed heavily upon my mind. Some ancient worry, something I dreaded perhaps? And true, there was an element of such, but it was not something I highlighted whilst talking to Melchiah within that moment.

"It..." Melchiah hesitated and heaved himself onto one side so that he could see me fully. "It matters not."

"It matters greatly. I said I would be there. I would have been there, if it had not been for... _change._"

Within that moment Melchiah attempted to sit up, his claws digging down hard into the soft material of the divan.

"Loyal Rahab," he grunted in what I considered to be discomfort. "Rest easy. For once, take heed of yourself." He smiled, a glint of confidence remained strong within him, a confidence I had never witnessed within our youngest before. Perhaps this task he had been sent on had given him confidence after all.

Regardless of myself I was smiling, though the smile was small. This task had given Melchiah the confidence that before he had been lacking. Although he had been injured in such, something of great value had come from it.

"And how went the campaign," I said standing and picking up the chalice I had drunk from earlier on.

I looked around for the carafe of blood, and upon Melchiah pointing to it situated on a near by table, I poured myself some.

Melchiah gestured to his malformed wounds. "Albeit these, it went – finely. My children Rahab, so fine they were." He tried to sit up once more but I approached him and bent down to rest my free hand on his shoulder in a mannerism that suggested he should lie still for his own sake.

"Be still Melchiah and rest," I told him, and offered to pour him a drink but he declined, content to just focus upon talk.

"We took the towns. Lord Kain's flags are flying now as well as the Melchiahim's." He was proud of his achievement that was evident.

I sat down in the chair whilst listening, and pulled the chair closer to where Melchiah lay, reaching out for his damaged arm and gently touched the grafted skin. He allowed me to do so, only wincing slightly to indicate pain as one of my claws softly touched the inflicted surface.

"And when, in the campaign, did this happen?"

"Near to the end, close to our return." He stopped and caught his breath after having become overwhelmed in describing the Melchiahim progress to me.

From his words I imagined the scenes, imagined the clan's eagerness and how they had advanced on the towns. The aftermath and the small skirmishes that had broken out soon after in their last attempt for their freedom. Of how it was he had received these wounds of his, and whilst I listened to such I found that I had automatically clenched my fists.

"We would have returned sooner had it not been for the capture of one."

"Capture of one?" I hesitated and frowned. "One of the Melchiahim?"

He laughed gently. "Nay sibling, one of _them._"

The word 'them' struck a cord of thought strongly within my mind. I did not need to ask whom the 'them' were. Automatically I knew he referred to those of the resistance we sought.

I looked away and glanced at the room we sat in. The dying embers of the fire nearby crackled faintly, their tongues of orange had faded a while ago and now all that remained was a faint glow submerged around the carcass of burnt wood.

Could it be that Melchiah – the one whom had always been regarded as the weakest of us – had caught a mortal who would be able to give me the answers to what it was I sought?


End file.
